


Lightning Strikes the Heart

by tagalonglovers



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, CSBB, F/M, Frenemies, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-12 14:33:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 47,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7938262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tagalonglovers/pseuds/tagalonglovers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Frenemies AU, set in modern times - Killian Jones and Emma Swan have hated each other since the moment they met. Killian is arrogant, cocky and a womanizer; Emma is standoffish, straight forward, and rude. When David and Mary Margaret ask them to be their respective Maid of Honor and Best Man, their desire to stay as far away from each other as possible, goes awry. The two must work together to make the Nolan-Blanchard wedding as perfect as possible. The best wedding gift the bride and groom could receive is for their closest friends to get along, and if they help their friends achieve their own happy ending, then who’s to stop them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve had this idea brewing for awhile, and I’ve spent the this last year churning out this monster instead of prepping for grad school (It was supposed to be under 20K and it’s almost 50K instead-I think I missed the mark).
> 
> They say it takes a village to raise a child and it’s never been truer. Without the help of my beta (accio-ambition) and cheerleader (captklaroline) I would be nothing. I especially need to thank Maggie for encouraging me the whole way and finding my fuck it moments. This story would be a horrific mess without you. I also need to bow down to the absolutely fabulous swankkat for creating a brilliant piece of art for me!!! And finally, thank you to the CS Big Bang mods for putting this all together-you rock!!

It starts with a phone call.

David’s silent on the other end and that’s how Killian knows that something is up. They’ve been friends for a long time, have been through plenty of interesting circumstances—ranging from David’s torrid, doomed love affair with Kathryn to the deaths of David’s parents—and by this point, Killian would like to think that he knows him pretty well.

He heaves a sigh when David talks himself in and out of circles, jotting down notes on his latest jewel appraisal for later use. He taps his fingers against the heavy wood of his brother’s desk. “Spit it out, mate. International rates are a pain in my arse.”

“I did it.”

“What?” Killian bites out. He loves David, dearly—like another brother and all of that—but sometimes he wishes that he was closer to Mary Margaret who doesn’t hem and haw so much to get to the point out. “What did you do? You got the job? You got the new house?” He nods to himself before continuing, “I hope it’s a new house because that apartment you share with Mary Margaret is much too small for the two of you when you finally grow a pair to pro—Oh!”

Killian makes the connection and he knows instantly he’s right because David laughs giddily on the other end. “I proposed. Killian, I proposed to her and she said yes!”

“As if she would do anything else,” Killian says knowingly, cradling the phone receiver in his hand and smiling broadly. “She loves you, mate. You’ve been in love with each other for so long, I still don’t know how you waited for so long.”

“Financial stability is a good thing, Killian. Don’t knock it til you try it.”

Killian glances around Liam’s old office that he’s borrowing for his stay in London and peers through the glass door to spot an intern patiently helping a few patrons. “I’m pretty settled, Dave. I don’t think you need to tell me that.”

“Right, right. I forgot that you’re very important. Don’t forget that having a life is important too,” David says earnestly, a smile to his voice that makes Killian rolls his eyes. Since he and Mary Margaret moved in together and became serious, marriage has been the big topic of every one of their conversations. They’re almost thirty and he hasn’t had a serious girlfriend since—well, a while and David and Mary Margaret have made it their personal mission to get Killian to join their couple cult.

“I am very happy where I am in my life, David,” Killian says instead, swallowing harsher words. It’s true. He probably shouldn’t be having so much casual sex now that he is approaching thirty, but he’s a bachelor; his social life is relaxed and fits just how he wants into his busy life. He’s happier than he was in college and that’s what matters.

He clears his throat. “How did you propose? Grandiose romantic gesture like you’ve always dreamed? Rose petals and horse-drawn carriages around the park? Flash mob in the middle of Grand Central?”

David chuckles weakly on the other end. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?” Killian asks, dropping his pen and leaning back in his chair. He rolls up his button down sleeves, folding them neatly. “Tell me, mate. Don’t be shy. I need to know all the gory details.”

“It was kind of accidental,” David murmurs. Killian can hear the wince in his voice and he starts to laugh in response, trying to picture David foregoing his carefully plotted plans. David hurriedly cuts him off, “No! No! Stop, Killian, come on, not like that.” He quiets down, trying to catch his breath as he waits. “I just couldn’t help myself. We were taking a walk around the park when this little girl fell while rollerblading right in front of us. You know Mary Margaret, she was instantly there to help her. Brushed off the dirt on her jacket, dried her tears with that sweet smile and helped her up like it was nothing.” There’s admiration and affection in David’s voice that makes Killian’s heart hurt, “And I just—I couldn’t help myself. I could just see our kids, Killian, and I blurted it out.”

“Oh, mate,” Killian murmurs. It’s perfect for them, honestly. He doesn’t know why he thought it would ever be something ridiculous. Mary Margaret and David have always been like that. They’ve never needed—done anyway in many cases, yes,— any big romantic gestures to get their feelings across.

“And she said yes,” David continues. “She didn’t even look surprised. She kissed me and grabbed my hand and we just kept skating. I didn’t even have the ring on me.”

“I slaved over that ring for you and you didn’t even have it with you?” Killian exclaims, throwing his head back and laughing. “I spent weeks finding the perfect set of vintage emeralds for you.”

“And she loved the ring you made!” David hurriedly adds, “I gave it to her when we got home.”

Killian smiles. “I’m really happy for the both of you. You deserve all the happiness in the world.” David makes appreciative murmurs, and Killian clears his throat. “So when’s the big date then?”

“April, we think,” David says, sounding like he’s thinking carefully. “It’s a little earlier than we ever thought—“

“There’s not enough time!” A familiar voice crows in the background. “I wanted June but we would have had to wait years for a June wedding.”

Killian sighs wearily, shaking his head. “Have I been on speakerphone the whole time?”

“No?”

“You don’t sound too sure, Dave,” Killian says dryly. He should really know better. David and Mary Margaret have been attached to the hip for as long as they’ve been in a relationship. They’ve always been that love sick that makes normal people want to vomit at the sight of them.

“I swear!” David proclaims. “She just got home from work!”

Killian glances at his clock, 8:15 PM, and quickly calculates the time zone difference. Knowing how devoted Mary Margaret is to her first grade class, he calls bullshit. He doesn’t bother actually saying it because he knows when to surrender to David and Mary Margaret. “So why April?”

Mary Margaret immediately launches into a very fierce defense of the date that Killian almost immediately loses track of. She cites some outdoor venue and there’s a very long list of blooming flowers that he doesn’t quite understand. He’s toying with grabbing the old pocketwatch to fool around with when a single name stops him in his tracks.

Emma.

His blood runs cold, the hair on the back of his neck prickles, and he can barely grit out the words, “Emma? The Swan girl? Are you shitting me?”

“—she’s finally coming back from that operation in Maine! And you’ll be home permanently by then so it’s perfect!”

“Swan,” he states through clenched teeth. “David.”

David doesn’t answer because Mary Margaret’s interrupts with unnatural sharpness in her voice. “Don’t give me that, Killian. Emma is my best friend and you need to get over this petty rivalry or whatever feelings you still have from that incident.”

“There are no feelings,” Killian exclaims, “She is rude and nasty. You saw the bruise—”

“You were very obvious about getting into Ruby’s skirt,” David says plainly. “I don’t blame her for punching you.”

“Ruby wanted to go home with me,” Killian says crossly, “I’m not that big of a dick.”

“And you’re going to prove that you’re not a big dick now,” Mary Margaret says, and Killian barely contains his laughter when she repeats his phrasing right back at him. Even elementary school teachers can have dirty mouths. “My wedding day will not be ruined because the best man can’t go twenty minutes without having a fit. If you can’t control whatever lusty feelings you have for her, then—“

“Lusty feelings?” Killian asks, this time not even bothering to hide his crude laughter. “I hate Swan, Mary Margaret. I’d rather stick myself with a hot poker than have to acknowledge her existence.” There’s silence on the other end, and Killian knows that they’re talking about him in that coupley way they do with their eyebrows and telepathy. His good mood from David’s announcement is gone and now he’s just tired and annoyed. He rubs the bridge of his nose, barking, “What?”

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Mary Margaret hastily says, and there’s something like amusement in her voice that Killian doesn’t even want to try to interpret. “I would say just to stay away from her Killian, but you can’t. You need to grow up.”

“I’ll grow up if she grows up,” Killian mutters, in a decidedly adult manner. He can hear their combined sigh over the phone line and he rolls his eyes. “Fine. I can be an adult. But I’m only doing this for the two of you.”

“It’s been years,” David says conversationally, “I’m pretty sure you can put aside whatever you have going on and work together.”

Killian pauses, heaving a sigh, “Don’t you dare tell me she’s the maid of honor or I might delete your number right here, right now. I thought she was just a bridesmaid and now you’re telling me—”

“Killian,” Mary Margaret says with warning.

“Fine, fine, fine,” he answers snippily, biting his lip. “I can behave. It’s been years since I’ve seen her. My hatred has surely died down since then.”

“All you need to do is be civil,” David reassures. “Remember, it’s for us. Your best friends who love you greatly and really want to have the perfect wedding day.”

Killian doesn’t need to rely on his relationship with David to correctly interpret the warning in his words. Killian takes a breath, ignoring the bell ringing from the front room and agrees. He has no other choice. “Of course, mate. I’ll behave. I won’t like it, but I’ll be on my best behavior.”

*****

Less than three weeks later, he’s put to the test.

He’s just finally returned from a few months in London. He’s spent weeks trying to sort out how the Jewels of the Realm London location is going to run without his brother’s leadership. He’s exhausted—physically and emotionally—and he’s ready to go back to his hopefully cleaned apartment and sleep for a week, but he can’t. He’s due to meet David and Mary Margaret at their favorite bar. It’s probably not his best idea, but he needs to see them and properly congratulate them, so as soon as the plane touches down, he’s in motion.

It’s pretty early for a Friday night, but the bar’s already packed. It’s hot as hell inside because the heat’s cranked up and it’s ridiculously loud because of a Rangers game, but his discomfort disappears when he spots David and Mary Margaret curled up in a booth in the far back. He smiles at them when David brightens and waves frantically at him, and he slips through the crowd.

He collapses in the booth, after hugging both tightly, and smiles at their bemused expressions.

“Tough flight?” David quips.

“It was so long,” Killian states with a pout. “Believe me, if we were not eating and drinking on your dime, I would not be here. I have absolutely nothing in my fridge and I need to drink away my memory of that flight.” A waitress arrives with drinks and Killian can’t stop the smile that appears on his face when Mary Margaret pushes one of the beers into his hands. “And this is why I love coming home. A good meal with my best friends is the best welcome home.”

“About that,” David says, exchanging a tight smile with Mary Margaret.

He stops, the cool glass against his lips. The two of them look more guilty than usual and there’s a fourth empty whiskey glass on the table. He narrows his eyes, glancing between them and the glass. They have only one friend who casually drinks whiskey at the best craft beer bar in the city. “No.”

Killian takes a deep drink of his beer, terribly, terribly sad that he can no longer down a beer like he used to as a teenager. Emma Swan is here and going to ruin his evening. He never expected to be blindsided by his best friends. He sighs deeply, glancing longingly at the appetizers already on their table. “I’m leaving.”

He gets to his feet. Immediately, David jumps out of the booth, placing both hands on Killian’s shoulders, “You can’t. Emma’s here tonight to bury the hatchet. She’s making an effort, now it’s your turn.”

Killian pouts, and Mary Margaret pipes up, “We’re really sorry, Killian, but we knew it was necessary. Admit it you never would have shown up otherwise.”

He rolls his eyes “You’re damn right I wouldn’t have.”

“But you’re here now, and you might as well make the best of it,” David says soothingly, trying to reassuringly rub Killian’s shoulders. He looks earnest and if Killian weren’t so annoyed he would laugh. “We have a greasy American cheeseburger coming for you and an open tab on my credit card just waiting for your expensive craft beers.”

His determination to leave wavers. David and Mary Margaret are his best friends for a reason. He takes a cautious seat again and Mary Margaret smiles. “Just be yourself, Killian, and things will go smoothly. I want the two of you to get along. Do you know how difficult it is to handle the two of you hating each other?”

“No,” he says petulantly. They should have dropped Swan the second she was rude, but Mary Margaret and David are soft and dewy-eyed for anyone that is family-less and ready to fight for any cause. Single mom Emma fit their bill perfectly. Killian knows that firsthand.

“Killian,” Mary Margaret says.

“I’ll behave.” he says crabbily, stealing a handful of Mary Margaret’s onion rings out of spite and taking another hasty sip of his beer. He needs more alcohol in him if he’s expected to deal with her.

“Good.” she brightens. “On that note, you need to apologize.”

He chews messily and swallows. “I will not. You’re already asking me to sit in her presence. I will not apologize.”

“You called her a—“ David bites his lip, turning to Mary Margaret hopefully, “A demon? And a—shoot, what did you call her—an opinionated savage beast?”

“Not my best work,” Killian admits. “My vocabulary for insults has significantly increased since working with rich clients.”

David scoffs. “Sure. Anyway, you need to apologize.”

“If I need to apologize, she needs to apologize. Ruby was a consenting adult. Really, I did nothing to warrant an apology. Swan punched me to save Ruby’s virtue.” He gestures at Mary Margaret. “She overreacted and yes, maybe I shouldn’t have put my hand on Ruby’s bottom, but that should have been up to her, not Swan.”

“Killian.” David sighs, he runs a hand threw his hair.

He watches with narrowed eyes. Mary Margaret is giving him her sweetest, most hopeful look and he knows he’s going to agree. He’s going to regret it, but he will do it if it means that David and Mary Margaret are happy on their wedding day. 

Emma Swan is not a great woman. She’s opinionated and doesn’t take any shit. She can be downright cruel when she needs to be and is fiercely protective of herself and her son. If things had been different, he might have admired her, but now things are different. It’s going to take a herculean effort to be civil. 

But he loves Mary Margaret and David. And they love Swan.

He nods finally and responds, “Fine.”

They both break into wide smiles. “Thank you, Killian. And for the record, Emma’s been read the riot act too. Now, grab another beer and relax. She’ll be back from the bathroom at any minute.”

He just barely avoids rolling his eyes at them like a teenager, but gets up anyway. He goes to the bar, flutters his eyes at the familiar bartender, Tara, and waits for his bottle. He spots her return to the table out of the corner of his eye and the hairs rise on the back of his neck almost reflexively. She’s leaning against the booth with a deep scowl on her face, pointedly not looking in his direction.

It absolutely fills him with pleasure that she hates him as much as he does.

He makes a production of blowing Tara a kiss as she hands him his bottle. He saunters back to the table, waiting for the moment that Swan can’t help but turn around. She does exactly that and whirls back around. He takes the time to let his eyes drift unapologetically down her body. It’s quite unfortunate that Swan is even more beautiful than she was at the ripe old age of 22. Her hair is still golden, curling at the tips, and her dark red leather jacket falls perfectly to the top of her perfectly round bottom. Being a part of the police force has truly done her body good.

“Hello, Swan,” he says gruffly as he approaches the table. He nods to her, and he watches as she turns sharp green eyes on him and doesn’t say a word. He bites his lip, widening a smile as far as he can. “You look lovely as always.”

She looks him up and down, forcing herself to smile at him with none of the warmth she saves for David and Mary Margaret. “Jones.”

He feels himself sinking back into that old immature college kid he used to be just at the sight of her. His old slime falls out of his lips without even his notice. “Budge over, Swan, will you? I have a fresh drink and I would like to share it with my dear friends.” He tips his head in Mary Margaret and David’s direction, ignoring their warning dagger eyes. Emma moves over as far as she can, annoyance clear as day on her face.

Her irritation empowers him. “Got a problem, Swan?” She doesn’t answer, and he leans over, knowing it’s a mistake and whispers in her ear. “It’s because I’m so attractive isn’t it, Swan? You just can’t bear to me near me.”

He expects the shove out of the booth—he won’t deny it—he just doesn’t quite expect to wind up ass over tit on the dirty floor of the bar, with Swan’s clenched fist firmly pressed against the small of his back. He spits out dust and probably a lot of other things he would rather not have in his mouth, and lies there stiffly as she leans down with a sharp smile. “Never touch me again, Jones.” She releases him just as swiftly, and brushes off her hands with a very self-satisfied smirk before announcing, “I need another drink.”

He pries himself off the floor, ignoring the scattered jeering of the other patrons at his misfortune, and watches her saunter away from him with a bounce in her step. (Her ass really is spectacular, especially in those boots and jeans.) He slides back into the booth and smiles broadly at David’s pursed lips and Mary Margaret’s disappointed expression. “I’m not sorry.”

“You didn’t even try,” David deadpans.

“She’s so much fun to rile up.” Killian takes a deep breath, shaking his head ruefully. “God, I forgot how much fun that is.”

“And you’re not going to have any more fun,” Mary Margaret says with authority and Killian’s smile droops. “Go apologize and make nice.”

“But—“

“You’re going to be working with her over the next few months. You need to be respectful.” Mary Margaret shakes her head. “You’re a grown up, Killian. Act like it. Be nice to her. Buy her a drink—no scratch that, she’ll think you’re hitting on her—buy her breakfast, take her to a museum. I don’t know, Killian, just treat her the way that you would treat us.”

“With care and compassion,” David adds with a decisive nod of his head. “You just need to act like a grown up and tone it down.”

“Fine, fine,” he says, getting to his feet and setting off for the bar, “I’m going.”

He’s gone before either of them can make another comment, slipping into place behind Swan. She notices him, but denies him a comment, pointedly turning her entire body toward the three bartenders. Killian rolls his eyes, because of course she would be stubborn in every sense. He tries to wrap an arm around her shoulders, and he’s intercepted. Her eyes are icy and her grip around his bad wrist is tight, almost painful.

“Don’t touch me, Jones.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs apologetically, feeling genuine, only because his wrist is now throbbing in her grasp. “Let go, Swan. I won’t touch you.”

“Good,” she says stiffly, releasing his hand reluctantly. “Now, fuck off.”

He rolls his eyes behind her back. “Hello, Swan. You look wonderful. How am I? Oh, I’m just as wonderful. My business is booming, I’m thinking about expanding again.” She doesn’t answer, stepping forward so she’s even further away from him. “This is when you answer and ask me questions too.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” she says simply, sounding impassive and untouched. He might actually have to apologize. If they don’t come back to the table civil, Mary Margaret might actually kill him. He’s about to step forward again, when she leans forward and raps sharply on the wood. It’s too noisy in the bar and it does nothing.

“Let me,” Killian scoffs, lightly shouldering another female to step up beside her.

He’s just about to flag down Tara when Emma laughs. “Don’t need your help, Jones. I can take care of myself.” She brings her fingers to her lips and lets out an ear-piercing whistle. Graham, the only male bartender, turns automatically toward Emma with an answering whistle. Emma winks smugly at Killian. “That’s how you do it.”

He rolls his eyes, signaling Tara wordlessly for another. There’s an uncomfortable silence between them despite the din of the bar, and Killian knows what must be done. He takes a deep breath, scratching uncomfortably behind his ear, before taking the plunge. “I am truly sorry for before, Swan. I didn’t mean to be so crass.” He winces. “Old habits die hard, I suppose?”

“Old habits?” She looks unimpressed. “That’s what you’re going with?”

He sniffs, “You’re very easy to rile up, Swan.” He tries to peer around a tall guy that’s blocking his view, trying his hardest to keep his tone. “Apparently, you bring out the worst in me.”

“Well, you were pretty awful,” Swan says, grimacing. “It figures that you would stay that way now.”

“I can be a good guy.” She snorts ungracefully. “I am. I’m certainly not as awful as I used to be.”

At that, Swan begins to laugh a big belly laugh that makes the couple next to them stare. She’s still cackling when Tara appears with his drink and Graham with hers. Killian instructs both of them to add it to David’s tab as she hiccups helplessly.

“You haven’t changed a bit either, Swan,” he says finally, “You’re still just a narrow-minded and rude as you’ve always been.”

They step aside and Emma stops laughing long enough to shake her head at him. “I have no idea what David sees in you. He’s a genuinely nice, compassionate guy, and you,” she smirks, “you’re a sleazebag who thinks being attractive can let you get away with anything.”

“So you think I’m attractive,” he says confidently, taking a sip of his beer to hide his smirk. She groans and stomps away, and Killian feels something bubble in his chest. It feels like success. He grabs her arm, almost whirling her around. “Swan, stop for one second.”

“Why?” she spits. “You’re so lucky Mary Margaret and David like you or you would be dead on the ground right now.”

“Yes, yes you’re behaving, I can tell,” he drawls. “Are you willing to put aside our differences so this wedding can be perfect?”

“I can be civil,” she says easily, crossing her arms over her chest, “Can you?”

“Can you stop treating me like I’m a cockroach in human form?”

“If you can act like a respectable person, then I can treat you like you’re human.”

Killian is so very tempted to disagree just for the sake of disagreeing, but Mary Margaret and David are sitting at the booth, anxiously trying to look like they’re not watching. Killian must act like an adult. Emma expects him to deny her. She expects that he’s just another douchebag—which alright, he can be—and he can’t have that. He smirks at Emma, lowering his lashes and watching with great joy as her own smirk tightens noticeably. “That sounds like a challenge, Swan.”

She narrows her eyes. “It wasn’t.”

“Oh, I think it was,” Killian says, sizing her up. This will be simple. He’s easily one of the most charming men he’s ever known—even if he is a tiny bit biased—and he can win Emma Swan over easily. For sure, he will never be friends with her, but he will maintain his civility until the last drink of the last minute of the after-party on the wedding night. He meets her eyes squarely, and holds out his hand for her to shake.

Rolling her eyes, she takes it firmly. Killian smiles. “Challenge accepted, Swan. Be prepared.”

*****

His plan to win Emma Swan’s friendship—something he doesn’t want or need—doesn’t come into action until a week or two later. His professional life takes first priority; he has to take back control of the American location of his shop first and foremost. Then, he needs to jumpstart design and production for the upcoming season. He’s no longer worried about the London shop, but the interim head of the New York location—Mr. Smee, a fairly incapable man—has done an abysmal job running his business. In a short amount of time, his professional life returns to normalcy. He’s nearly overrun with clients interested in his jewelry and smithing services.

His social life takes a bit more time. He has dinner a few times a week with David and Mary Margaret. Sometimes Swan joins them, but those nights, she ignores him. His challenge starts then, but it fails pretty abysmally. Although she likes flowers, she doesn’t like bouquets and Killian very firmly finds out that he will not win her over by pushing huge arrangements of roses and tulips in her direction. Mary Margaret happily accepts the blood red French tulips he buys specifically for her, but Swan awkwardly clutches at the bouquet with a pretty hysterical expression until David fetches a vase for her to put them in. He’s thankful she doesn’t throw them in his face, but she forgets to bring them home and they remain a centerpiece on David and Mary Margaret’s dining room table instead.

So, Killian tosses out flowers, and searches out other options.

He finds one.

Strong-willed, menacing, Detective Emma Swan, is addicted to Mary Margaret’s chocolate chip banana nut muffins.

It’s nearing Halloween and they’re all kind of going crazy. David’s working terrible hours, Killian’s patrons are obsessively interested in their projects, and Mary Margaret’s students are acting up. Like always, she gets stressed when they stress, and when she’s stressed, she bakes.

And bakes.

And bakes.

Killian walks in for dinner one night and finds nearly every surface of the one-bedroom apartment covered in baked goods of all shapes and sizes. He’s judging if he can sneak one of Mary Margaret’s snickerdoodles before dinner, when the devil herself wanders into the living room, stuffing one of Mary Margaret’s special muffins down her throat with increasingly horrifying noises. He doesn’t make any comment (even though he’s absolutely aching to say something naughty) and watches in anticipation as she praises Mary Margaret’s baking skills and begs her to make more.

Mary Margaret regretfully says no, insisting she’s moved onto cakes, and that should be the end of it, but the image of Swan swallowing the muffin practically whole sticks in his mind all night. He’s walking home, loaded down with leftovers and baked goods—he can never say no to David’s lasagna—when he’s struck with an idea.

He turns around in the middle of the street and heads right back to the apartment. He strong-arms David out of the doorway and wheedles Mary Margaret into giving him the recipe. His brain is in overdrive because this—this could be the key into Swan’s heart. Feed her into a false sense of security, and she could be putty in his hands.

It’s genius.

The only real problem is that he hasn’t tried his hand in baking in over 20 years. He used to bake all the time when he was young. When his brother joined the Royal Navy or his father was in a less than pleasant mood, his mother would draw him close to her side at the counter and press dough into his hands. It was therapeutic to him as a child, stopped him from answering his father’s words with fists.

He hasn’t baked since her death.

It figures that Swan would be the reason to start again.

As much as it pains him, he gets the recipe and lays out the ingredients on the countertop in his apartment. He putzes around for a while and finally forces himself to mix the first set of ingredients, folding the flour, cocoa powder, and sugar in the mixing bowl by hand like Mary Margaret insisted. He chops up the nuts into small pieces, and the rest of the recipe falls into place. He winds up with a dozen heavenly smelling muffins and that old calm settling in his gut.

In the morning, before he heads to his shop, he tops them with some chocolate chips and fudge drizzle. He feels properly domesticated as he leaves his apartment with two of the muffins packed in a small box stamped clearly with his jewelry shop logo. He imagines if the muffins turn out to be shit, Swan will have a good laugh knowing he slaved over a hot stove for her damn muffins.

It takes some sweet talking—‘Surprising my girlfriend, come on, love. You wouldn’t want one of New York’s finest to starve, would you?’—but he leaves the muffins on Swan’s cluttered desk with her normal coffee order. He’s in and out before Swan comes back from a call and he settles in for a day of tinkering, feeling surprisingly nervous. He doesn’t know why he feels the way he does—he doesn’t care for Swan’s opinion of him—but there is a lot at stake. If she doesn’t accept his gift as a peace offering, the wedding will be even more complicated than it has to be.

It turns out she doesn’t say anything for three days.

Every day, he’s delivered her a coffee and a few muffins with no response. It’s discouraging for sure, but he’s kept up with David, who works with her every day, and knows that Swan is curious. She knows that Killian’s the baker, but isn’t afraid that they’re poisonous; in fact, she and and her son, Henry, are devouring the muffins.

Killian gets a text from an unknown number later that night. It’s almost midnight, and he’s sacked in front of his television with a matching sapphire necklace and earring set long forgotten at his side. He sits up, smirk already starting on his lips. He’s already gotten her.

>I know what you’re trying to do.

He taps the screen, trying to think of the most appropriate response. Sass, as always is the best response.  
>You’ve done it Swan. You’ve foiled my plan.

It doesn’t take long before she answers and he takes the time to plug in her contact information.

>Stop trying to fatten me up. I’m serious, Jones. I have a gown to fit into by April.

He pauses, expecting something a bit more sharp from her. Maybe something about how he won’t win this by feeding her or she knows he’s truly evil. He still thinks she’s a rude, opinionated bitch—a few pastry goodies won’t change that—and he doubts her opinion would change that fast either.

>I’m being kind, Swan. I made muffins, I thought you might like them.

>Well, stop it.

>Is it really so bad, Swan? Free breakfast from a friend.

>A friend. You wish.

>We’re not friends? I could have sworn that was our agreement.

He’s personally gotten her breakfast every day this week and the witch still can’t give him the time of day without being her normal horrible self. He doesn’t need it anyway, he reasons, as long as they’re not antagonizing each other. And he’s got a leg over her anyway—he’s told way more people than necessary that she’s his girlfriend to get in places and the police precinct desk sergeant sneaks him into the office without question every morning.

He finally types,  
>Oh right, we’re acquaintances.

>That’s it.

He rolls his eyes. He’s glad that’s all they are.  
>I’m hurt, love. I slaved over a hot stove for you. I guess I can get over it.

>I know Mary Margaret helped you. I appreciate the gesture but stop.

He can barely contain his snort of disgust. Of course, Swan would think that. It’s beyond her imagination to think that he would honestly do anything to help her. As if she could ever be thankful for something he’s done. He could save the planet and she would think he did it for the glory. He types a rude response, but quickly backtracks, ending the conversation right then and there:  
>Of course.

He thinks about quitting—stopping his quest for Swan’s civility—and almost laughs. He can’t do that, Mary Margaret and David would be so disappointed in him and more importantly, Swan would think she was right. And that can’t happen.

He marches into his kitchen, throwing open his small pantry and grabbing ingredients. He doesn’t need Mary Margaret’s recipe this time; he already has one in mind. Cinnamon roll muffins, his mother’s recipe. It’s late, much later than he should be baking, but he powers through, ignoring the stir of emotion in his belly when the smell of the muffins baking hits him. He pulls off the recipe with minimal emotional trauma and leaves them to cool.

The next day, he wakes up with a plan in mind. He drizzles icing on the entire batch and takes care to keep them secure as he follows his normal routine to Swan’s favorite coffee shop and then the precinct. Claire is at the front, and spots him immediately, waving him over with a smile, “Oh, Killian, more muffins today? You promised me fresh scones.”

“These are special, my dear.” He pops the top of the box and raises a single eyebrow. “How do you feel about cinnamon rolls?”

Claire smiles, her wrinkled hands darting into the box to grab one. She admires it, nodding in approval before taking a bite. She practically wilts. “You’ve outdone yourself this time. I take back whatever I said about those other muffins. These are the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” She takes another bite, wiping her mouth and gesturing, “Emma is going to love them. She was so snippy yesterday. She needs something sweet.”

Killian winks theatrically. “Sweet as these muffins.”

“Absolutely. Emma is lucky to have you, Killian.”

“Remind her for me, Claire,” he laughs. She buzzes him into the bullpen and Killian eagerly turns on his heels. He’s only known Claire for less than a week, but he very much likes her. If only she were forty years younger.

He trots off, taking his well-traveled path to Swan’s desk. He greets two of her coworkers with a head nod and nearly stops in his tracks when he sees a familiar blonde head bent over paperwork on her desk. A grin splits his face when she looks up and heaves an almighty sigh of frustration. He saunters over to her side, presenting the box and coffee like he’s a lowly servant waiting on her. “For you, Swan. Cinnamon roll muffins.”

Emma glares at him, her eyes lingering just a little too long on the muffins. “Why are you here?” she finally asks.

“I can’t let you starve, Swan,” he says, placing the box on the desk and waving over her partner and a few of the other investigators. “Muffins for everyone. There’s plenty to go around. I have a duty to the city’s finest.”

“I can take care of myself,” she scoffs, turning pointedly away from him. She picks up her pen and makes a few useless marks on her report. Killian rolls his eyes and plants himself at the edge of her desk.

“I never said you couldn’t.” He unwinds the thick, black cashmere scarf and grabs his own muffin. It’s just as delicious as he remembers. “God, I have out done myself.” She won’t take one, and he shrugs. He’s got plenty of time; he is the owner of his own shop.

“You should leave.”

“Not until you take a bite.”

“Not a chance,” Emma insists. “I have plenty of other healthy options. I’m making a point.”

“Suit yourself.” He prods the box closer to her, watching in anticipation as she almost imperceptibly turns toward the smell. He smirks. “More for the boys then.” David wanders over with his partner, Leroy, shuffling along beside him. “Mate, Leroy, take muffins! David! Get your butt over here!”

Emma rubs her forehead and groans, “Can you eat all of the damn muffins somewhere else? I have reports to finish.”

“Calm down, Emma,” David laughs as he ambles over with Leroy at his side. “You’re so crabby this morning. Have a muffin,” David says, taking a seat on the other side of the desk, taking a bite of a muffin. Over her head, David exaggeratedly winks at Killian and moans loudly in pleasure. “Come on, just try a bite. Cinnamon’s your weakness.”

She stares down David, and it would be more convincing if she didn’t glance hopefully at the box.

“Do it,” Killian whispers, taking a hefty drink of his coffee. “Just take one. I won’t even gloat.”

“Jeez, I’ll take one of your damn muffins.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s not even nine, Jones, can you stop vibrating in your seat?”

“This is my third cup of the day, Swan, I could run a marathon.” He smiles sharply at her. “You are no match for my wit today. Just do it.”

She weighs her options, it seems, and finally her hunger wins. She impetuously just grabs one of the muffins and takes a bite. She closes her eyes, as if she’s expecting the worst, but it never comes. She chews thoughtfully, opening her eyes and watching him carefully. Killian can’t help the sly grin that splits his face when she finally nods and begrudgingly says, “This is good.”

“Homemade is always better than whatever crap you have in your drawer, Swan. Remember that.” She rolls her eyes, but continues eating and Killian considers it a win.

“And I remember telling you to stop baking for me.”

“And I ignored it. What are you going to do, Swan?”

She taps her fingers against the fake wood of her desk. “I’m going to save one for Henry. He loves cinnamon even more than me.” She glances back at David and sits up a little straighter, and speaks through clenched teeth.“You should make more.” She finishes the muffin, popping the lid of the coffee and taking a sip. She smiles faintly, a rare pleasure in his company and offers him a small nod. “Thank you, Killian.”

It’s a clear dismissal, but it’s a very positive response. She has never used his first name before. Killian’s heart feels lighter than ever, and he can’t hold back the grin as he meets David’s eyes. As expected his best friend is beaming; he scoots off the desk and holds out his hand for Killian to shake. “These were delicious. Thanks for such a wonderful breakfast.” David starts to walk away. “I wanna get added to your delivery list.” He turns back, grinning the whole time. “It’ll make a great anniversary present!”

Killian laughs, watching until David is carefully seated away from them and fumbling with his police reports before he turns back to Emma. “I’m pretty sure Mary Margaret would kill me if that was what I got them as a present.” She doesn’t look up but he keeps going. “Are you going to the party tomorrow?” She doesn’t answer, but she stops writing and he takes it as a sign to continue: “Of course you’re going! You have to go, you’re the maid of honor.”

“I’m going,” she answers. Her tone is drastically different than before and Killian wants to kick himself for thinking she might have been polite for him. “We’ll make nice, we’ll take pictures and that’ll be all,” She pauses, biting her lip, her face turning hard. “I’m willing to work with you, Jones, but we’re not friends.”

“I don’t want your friendship, Swan,” he laughs, “I want to make David and Mary Margaret happy.”

“And we’re doing it. Don’t bother me, I won’t bother you and we’ll get through this wedding just fine.” She smirks. “You don’t need to buy my friendship anymore.”

“I’m being a good person, Swan,” he insists sweetly. He’s not put off by it; he’s actually amused that she’s trying again to get him to stop. “I’m taking time out of my day to bake for you, that’s all. I don’t want to win your heart. I don’t even want to get in your pants.”

“That’s a lie.”

“It’s not,” he says loftily, and she puts her pen down to properly turn her best unimpressed look on him. “I don’t. Now you, on the other hand...” He holds back a smirk when she bristles. “If you keep talking like that, I’ll start to think that you want to get a hand on my jewels.” The unintentional pun and sexual innuendo is enough and she jerks violently in his direction to push him off the desk. He scoots away just in time and laughs raucously as he gets to his feet without her help.

“Don’t worry, Swan, your secret is safe with me.” She’s glaring at him as he backs out of the room, but it’s more unamused than disembowelment and he’s perfectly fine with that change of heart. He waves cheerily at David and Leroy and gives her a cheap bow. “Have a lovely day, Swan.”

He races out before she can get another word in edgewise.

It’s a first in more ways than one and he lets that carry him through a hard day full of irate customers and priceless gems.

****

The engagement party is perfect for David and Mary Margaret. The room they’ve rented for the night is small—it is the city, after all—but the homey old brick walled room of the August Tavern is crammed with friends and family. Killian greets and hugs half of the party, steadily making his way from the entrance to the heart of the party. It’s packed with so many people that a few of the large windows have been opened to let in some fresh November air.

The view is incredible from where he’s standing, sort of involved in a conversation with David’s sweet but forgetful grandma. The room they’ve specifically chosen for the night has dozens and dozens of fairy lights. It looks like something out of a fairytale.

He would appreciate it more if he could grab another drink but Grammy’s still raving about David’s long-lost brother and Swan has commandeered the lone bartender’s attention. He’s the same bartender from their favorite bar, and if Killian hadn’t been with David when Graham offered his services as a wedding gift, Killian would have thought he did it to spend more time with Swan. He hasn’t stopped staring at her since Swan approached the bar for her first drink, making eyes and ignoring other patrons.

It’s infuriating.

Now, Killian will admit that Swan is a very sexy woman, but she does not deserve that kind of attention, especially when it’s holding up the alcohol consumption. Swan doesn’t seem to notice how problematic they’re being, wearing this misplaced shy smile and twirling her long blonde locks between her forefingers. She’s leaned against the counter, and her dress isn’t even that revealing, but it’s more than enough to monopolize Graham’s attention.

Killian can spot it from a million of miles away—she’s trying to get laid and Graham’s slack-jawed focus says he’s more than willing enough.

He’s almost more annoyed that he can’t order a drink without sparking Swan’s ire.

“Jealous, Killian?” Robin’s voice is a sly whisper in his ear, and it’s enough to make him jump and tear his gaze away from Swan. Apparently, he’s been staring an embarrassingly long time. Even Grammy’s moved on to another willing listener and Robin’s watching him with a gleeful smile.

“I’m jealous that she has Graham’s attention,” Killian hastily answers. “I need another drink, but I don’t know if I’m willing to interrupt their mating spectacle to get another one. I don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.”

“They do look rather close.” Another woman steps up to Killian’s other side, dark lips pressing together in a pursed smirk. “Maybe it would be more fun to interrupt.”

Killian laughs. “I love the way you think, Regina.”

She grins at him, stepping closer to her husband. “Still willing to ruin Emma’s happiness? I thought your new partnership was supposed to—what did Mary Margaret call it?” She exchanges a laugh with Robin. “Civilize you?”

Although Regina is now one of Mary Margaret’s best friends, they got off to a rough start with jealousy and cat fights that nearly put Killian and Emma’s tiff to shame. To this day, they’re an awkward pair, but Regina’s cutthroat behavior balances Mary Margaret’s sunshiney goodness in a way that makes much more sense than it should. He and Regina get along scarily well.

“She wishes.” Killian rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to behave, but there’s only so much I can do. And sometimes—” They watch her for a second, catching the way she lights up at something Graham says. “Swan just makes it far too easy.”

“No wonder she wanted Henry and Roland to have a sleepover tonight,” Robin says under his breath, taking a sip of his beer and raising an eyebrow suggestively.

“Swan will not have sex before me tonight,” Killian mutters, swirling his glass and clinking the ice. He wasn’t so bothered before he left his apartment tonight, but the mere thought of Swan having fun and getting off if he goes home alone is enough to make him angry and horny. “I need another drink.”

“So, let’s go,” Regina says. She glances at her glass half-filled with a startlingly bright red liquid and downs it without a second thought. “We’re gonna get you a drink and send you on your merry way.” She shrugs and glances at Robin who nods agreeably. “I’m sure you can find one willing woman to have sex with you.”

“One willing woman,” Killian huffs, making Robin chuckle as they slowly cut through the crowd to the bar. “I am a prize.”

“Of course you are,” Regina says placatingly. “Your pickings are just slim tonight, dear.”

“There are plenty of single women,” Robin disagrees. “Most of Mary Margaret’s teacher friends are single.” He gestures with a head nod to the small crowd of women near Mary Margaret. “Turn on that accent, mate.”

He follows his head nod and almost immediately meets the eyes of one young woman who’s already watching him. He’s not quite caught off guard, but his reaction is automatic—the responding flicker of something in his eyes and the upward turn of his own lips in a smirk that he knows drives them wild. She’s much shorter than his usual type, but her dark brown hair cascades down her shoulders and her dress is cut in just a way that lets his imagination run wild.

He’s about to head in her general direction—to talk up the other girls and tease Mary Margaret—when there’s a sharp, “Jones.”

His interest disappears immediately, replaced with annoyance that’s been lingering in the back of his head all night. He turns to the woman in front of him, whose arms are folded over her chest of her tight black leather dress. “Yes, Swan?”

“I need you.” Her tone short, her pursed expression changing ever so slightly to smile at Robin and Regina who haven’t moved an inch in anticipation of drama. “We need to do the toast.”

Killian sighs, glancing back at the dark-haired girl. She’s turned away and fluttering her lashes at another one of David’s friends from the precinct. He knows the opportunity has long since passed. Robin catches his eyes and gives him a sympathetic look that would mean a lot more if Regina wasn’t smirking like the Cheshire cat. Killian sighs again, and nods. “Course, Swan. I need another drink and I will join you at the front table.”

She smiles slightly at him and turns on her heel to meet up with David and Mary Margaret. His eyes do not linger on her legs that look shapely and magnificent in her high heels. Regina nudges him just slightly. “Tough luck, Jones.”

He rolls his eyes. “You knew she was coming for me. You like watching me squirm.”

“I do,” Regina says agreeably. She loops her arms through Robin’s and waves at Killian as they cut through the crowd to the front of the room. “Better luck after the toast Killian. I’m sure you’ll find someone.”

Alone with an empty glass, Killian shakes his head and makes his way to the bar. He gets another craft beer, trying to take his time, but soon finds himself with the rest of the bridal party, including Swan and her son at her side. He’s met Henry only in passing—Emma would never let him meet such a reprehensible man like himself—and through Mary Margaret and David, but he’s a fellow groomsman...

...which means that he truly turns up the charm when he finds himself standing beside Swan’s son for the toast.

And Henry is a pleasure.

For a ten year old boy, he’s exceptionally eloquent and clever. He is nothing and everything like his mother. In personality, he’s just as fiery and tenacious, but with a softer, sweeter edge to it. In looks, he has his mother’s chin. Henry is a spectacular young boy; it’s refreshing to stand beside him—the lad is a groomsman as well—and hear him echo his own thoughts and feelings about Mary Margaret and David with a sparkling cider in hand (apparently, the couple is a surrogate family for anyone in need).

Killian feels his own toast pales in comparison, even though he gets a few laughs and David nearly stops breathing when he mentions a certain college adventure, which involved too much caffeine, too much alcohol, and a police horse. When everyone’s returned to the party and Swan’s laughing at Mary Margaret’s side with the other bridesmaids, he turns to Henry with a raised eyebrow and the bottle of cider. He eagerly pours the boy another glass, winking, and clinks their glasses together. “Congrats my boy, you’ve wished the happy couple well. You’ve accomplished your first groomsmen duty.” They take a deep drink each, Killian’s decidedly more alcoholic, and he crouches down to Henry’s level, holding out his hand to shake. “I’m Killian, David’s best friend. It’s nice to meet you finally, Henry.”

Henry slips his small, warm hand into Killian’s and shakes it eagerly with a bright smile on his face. “I know. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Your mother?” Killian asks, absolutely bewildered that Swan would even speak about him. Inexplicable worry sparks in his gut wondering what kind of bull she’s shared about him.

Thankfully, Henry shakes his head. “Uncle David talks about you a lot. My mom rolls her eyes.” He brightens up and a very tiny knowing smile appears on his face. “And your muffins. We’ve eaten so many of your muffins.”

“Ah, I knew those muffins weren’t going to waste!”

“She loves them, don’t let her fool you,” Henry whispers knowingly, glancing over his shoulder.

“Oh, mate, believe me I knew she loved them,” Killian says, feeling decidedly more empowered and loving every second of power he has over Swan. “We’re in a bit of a standoff right now. She wanted me to think I should stop, but I knew better.”

“Please don’t stop,” Henry says sincerely, tugging at the knot of his tie. “I like the cinnamon ones.”

“I would never,” Killian agrees with a smile. “You’re gonna love the ones for next week.”

Henry’s delight is enough to make KIllian grateful that he didn’t listen to Swan. He grows more fond of the child the more he talks to this little boy and he nearly forgets that Henry is Swan’s son. He doesn’t know how a wretched woman could produce such an incredible child. 

“Do you like Star Wars? You look like someone who would like Star Wars,” Henry asks. He points to the bow tie he’s wearing that’s decorated with tiny BB-8 droids.

“Of course, lad. I went to see the new movie with David,” Killian says. “I loved it.” 

“You’ve seen the new Star Wars?” Henry’s eyes are huge, his mouth gaping open like a fish. Killian chuckles and Henry, very happy with his captive audience, continues. “Rey is my favorite and my mom’s favorite. She’s so cool and she fights really well with the light sabers. I like Finn, too. He’s the hero. Who’s yours?”

“My brother and I used to love Star Wars,” Killian admits with a faint smile, mind hovering between nostalgia and pride that Henry’s part of the newest generation of fans. “I always pretended I was Han Solo.”

Henry makes a face. “That old guy?”

Killian gasps, a little mocking and affronted. “You did not call one of the most beloved scoundrels of the galaxy ‘that old guy’.”

Henry gives a confused little shrug. “He is old. I know that bad guy killed him and the general loved him.” He looks a little surprised that Killian feels so strongly about this, but carries on with the grace only a scarily mature child can have. “I like Rey and Finn better.”

Killian takes a deep breath to center himself. “Have you seen the prequels, Henry?” The boy shakes his head, and Killian smiles. “I liked Finn and Rey too—but the earliest prequels tell of the adventures of Luke Skywalker, the General, and Han Solo.”

Henry’s blank look is enough to make Killian feel sick to his stomach. “Your mother took you to see the newest movie without having you watch the others?” His distaste for Swan grows almost epically as Henry speaks.

“We were going to watch them,” Henry says, “We just always get distracted.” He sighs and pouts. “I had a book report then my mom had a really long case, then, we didn’t have the movies--”

“And you just ran out of time,” Killian finishes, shaking his head. “You’ve been cheated, my boy. I’ve seen those movies a hundred times over.”

“I want to see them,” Henry huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You may be in luck,” Killian smiles and meets Henry’s wide eyes with a wink. “I have the collection in prime Blu-ray condition. It’s just up to you to convince your mother to accept them.” He pauses, making a face. “I might have to deal with your mother, but if that means you get to enjoy these classic movies, I will do it.”

Henry wrinkles his nose. “You guys really don’t get along do you?”

“For you, lad, I would risk my neck.” Henry’s smile radiates across the room and Killian feels a little lighter in his chest. Who would think Swan’s child could be so innocent? He never thought a child would be the key to his success.

Henry nods with complete utter assurance. “I can do that. I can convince her.”

“Then it is a deal, my boy,” he laughs, “We will make sure that you see these movies.”

Neither of them hear her approach, and Killian almost winces when he hears her voice, sharp and suspicious. “What movies?” Swan slides into Killian’s vision with narrowed eyes and hands placed authoritatively at her hips. She’s positively alluring in the light, lips pursed and eyes knowing. Killian opens his mouth to argue, but her expression automatically softens when she approaches Henry and rests her hand on his hair. “I hope you’re not corrupting my son.”

It doesn’t sound exactly like a threat, but Killian still tenses up for a well-mannered, quiet fight at the anniversary party.

Henry actually comes to his rescue. “I wasn’t bothering him, Mom. Killian likes Star Wars too!”

“Oh those movies,” Swan laughs and meets Killian’s eyes. “For a second I was worried it was something a little more adult.”

Killian narrows his eyes, a little scandalized. “Are you kidding me, Swan? He’s a child. I would never talk about those kind of movies. What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you?” she cracks back, eyes lighting up with something. “I meant violent, bloody movies.”

Killian starts, glancing at Henry. The boy is watching him with a smart smiles; he knows exactly what movies Killian was thinking about. “Of course, that’s what I meant, Swan.” He’s making shit up as he goes along. That’s not at all what he meant and his head is producing very unneeded images of Emma striking down enemies wearing Leia’s slave bikini—fuck no, “Bloody, violent movies.”

She smirks, like she knows that isn’t the truth at all, but doesn’t comment. Instead, she focuses on her son. “You ready to go, kid? Roland’s ready for the sleepover you promised.”

“I’ll get my backpack!” Henry says happily. “Roland’s gonna be so excited. I can finally show him how to beat the big boss.” He glances back and Killian and smiles brightly. “It was nice to meet you Killian. I can’t wait to watch those movies.” He gives his mom a hug and tears through the crowd.

Killian doesn’t even wait, batting his eyes at her. “Are you ready for your sleepover, Swan?” He glances pointedly toward the bar where Graham is diligently putting away bottles and chatting with one of the venue’s waitstaff.

She huffs, but glances that way anyway almost unconsciously. “That’s none of your business.”

“Of course not,” he answers. “I’ve heard from quite a few ladies that he’s rather small. I hope you take that into concession.” It’s not quite the truth, he’s only heard it in passing from one woman he’s been to bed with, but it’s worth it when Swan turns faintly red and glares at him.

“Compared to you, right?” she sneers.

“Just a warning, love,” he says mildly, “I’m trying to help you.”

“Oh, I know what it is,” she says, eyes sharp and mouth curling. “You’re jealous.”

Killian balks. “Never.” He almost gets flustered, but he catches himself and leers at her instead, licking his lips. “I just want to make sure you’re properly satisfied.”

“Properly satisfied?” Swan says, her voice catching. “I’ll be perfectly fine, Jones.” He almost starts again, but she cuts him off impetuously. “I can handle myself. Don’t worry about me.” She turns on her heel and marches off, pausing and glancing back at him, eyes alight with amusement. “Have fun with your hand tonight, Jones. I hope you can satisfy yourself.”

She saunters off and Killian hates that she’s bested him. She’s completely right, of course; he doesn’t have a woman and he has no desire to find some random woman at a random bar. He’s almost thirty, for Christ’s sake, and it’s after midnight. He’s never felt so old. Without meaning to, he spots Mary Margaret and David talking to another couple. David’s got his arm wrapped loosely around her waist and she keeps glancing at him. Killian’s accidentally walked in on them a number of times and knows that look.

He downs his glass and walks away before he can think any deep thoughts. He’s never thought that he’s wanted it before, but right now he thinks it wouldn’t be so bad if he had a girlfriend to come back to at the end of the day and sleep next to during the night.

He goes to the nearest bar immediately after leaving the party, painting on his prettiest smile and finds an attractive blonde the second he walks through the door. She wants anonymity just as much as he does and follows him home for a fun romp and nothing more.

He gets off, of course, and makes sure Leena—Lisa?Liza?Lia?— does as well, and then she’s gone. He’s left to sweaty sheets, a cold bed, and a loneliness that feels almost overwhelming in the quietness of his apartment. He showers and strips his sheets quickly, getting in bed before he can do anything stupid. It takes awhile to fall asleep and it is definitely not because he can’t help but imagine another blonde curled up next to him in his sheets.

*****

His momentary weakness—thinking a developed relationship with another person is more rewarding than casual sex—doesn’t last more than the night. He stops his bakery for the weekend (he’s not in the mood and she’s got plenty of cinnamon roll muffins to last her) and spends it with two large bottles of merlot and half his client list.

Killian emerges from his cocoon late Sunday night when David calls to ask what’s on the menu. He fills the conversation with nonsense and eventually comes up with mixed berry scones, another recipe of his mother’s. It's easy enough, and he only has to take a late night trip to the 23-Hour organic grocer around the corner—God bless, New York City— for fresh fruit.

He purposely goes early to the precinct to avoid Swan, and winds up beating even Claire’s arrival to the front desk. He saves a special one for her and leaves the rest on Swan’s desk without a note.

His day is ordinary enough: he powers through a sickeningly extravagant sapphire necklace that's going to pay him handsomely and annoys one of his assistants. He doesn't expect a phone call a half hour after noon, and he certainly doesn't expect the caller.

“Swan,” he greets her, letting her name spill off his tongue. “Did your gorgeous bum accidentally hit my name? There is no other possible reason you would call me.” There's muffled noise on the other end and he's pretty sure it actually was a mistake. He sighs loudly. “I wish you'd speak louder so I can hear your gossip, Swan. I know you complain about David. I would love to share it with him and finally prove—”

“I do not!” Swan swears, making an unexpected appearance. He really did think it was a butt dial. “I'll tell Mary Margaret about the time you tried her bread pudding and spit it out in her ficus.”

“That was almost 11 years ago,” he dismisses. “I was hungover and the texture nearly killed me.” He pauses. “You obviously did not call to discuss what you can lord over me, you would never reveal your upper hand. So, Swan, what do you have to say?”

“I need to ask you something.”

It sounds almost painful for her to say, and he can't hide his glee. He's very glad that Louis and Lily are manning the front, and neither of them can tease him like they have been about his newfound baking spree.

“Love, you do not understand how much joy I get knowing that you need something from me.” He laughs, tossing aside his tools to clear space on his desk. He kicks his chair back and reclines it. “What could you possibly need from me?” Before she can say anything, he jumps back in, “An honest apology?”

“Not a chance,” Emma says immediately. “Don't ever get your hopes up for one. No, Jones, the reason I’m calling—” She pauses, frustrated. “Oh, hold on.” Her voice becomes muffled,though still undeniably frustrated.

“Swan, the suspense is killing me,” he drawls into the receiver, rolling his eyes and leaning back in his chair, waiting for her. She doesn't respond to him, she's clearly at a deli and it's not going well. “Don't be too nasty to him, he won't know what he's dealing with.”

“We're trying out a new deli and they've messed up the orders every day so far,” she barks into the phone when she returns barely a minute later. “We're never going back. I need my grilled turkey melt to survive David’s mid-afternoon caffeine high.”

“He can be unbearable,” Killian agrees, wincing as he remembers all those all-nighters and coffee runs that fueled some of their more interesting adventures.

“I almost forgot you were roommates,” she says. “You’d know how he gets then.”

“Fiercely determined to solve every problem and save the world?” Killian offers. “It's like he was born to protect everyone.”

“You'd think,” Swan chuckles, her laughter slowing until there's silence between them. It seems that they're both very acutely aware that they're having a calm, normal conversation. It hasn't devolved into pettiness and nastiness; it's apparently possible for them to have a normal conversation. She abruptly clears her throat. “I’m actually calling you for Henry. He told me that you have all of the Star Wars movies.”

Ahh. Killian’s curiosity peaks and wanes. It's not even been more than three days and Henry can't contain himself. He likes this child more and more with each passing opportunity.

“I do have the full box set,” Killian ventures. He doesn't offer much; he wants Swan to do all the leg work.

She knows it too and sighs monstrously. “Would we be able to borrow your movies for the weekend?” Killian deliberates for an obscene amount of time. Ultimately, he'll say yes. Ultimately, he'll agree when Swan begs and grovels just a little bit more—not too much or she'll go somewhere else—but for now it's too sweet. “For some reason, Jones, my son likes you and he's convinced me to give you a chance.”

“A chance?” he echos.

“Yes,” she says simply. It sounds like it physically pains her to say the words, but she plows on. “If both my best friends love you and even my son thinks you're not that bad, I’m willing to try.”

As big as she's trying to be, it doesn't sound like the Swan he's grown to know and despise. For as long as he's known her, the opinion of her friends has never mattered; Swan trusts her gut and nothing else. He's apparently shown her he's nothing but a dreadful excuse of a man, and thus she believes it.

“What's the catch?” he says, crossing his arms over his chest and cradling his phone against his shoulder. “What made you change your mind?”

He can practically see her rolling her eyes at him. “I told you—”

“No, no, Swan,” Killian laughs, “What did Henry do to make you see the light? Two days ago you were ready to punch me for glancing in your direction, and now you want to borrow movies that you could just as easily get online. Your boy is smart as a whip, I don't see parental controls stopping him.”

Swan is silent and he wonders suddenly where she is: if she's waiting at a crosswalk or pacing in front of the precinct so no one can ask who she's on the phone with. Finally, she speaks.

“He likes you. He wouldn't stop talking about you all weekend,” she sighs heavily, and continues bitterly, “He told me he won't watch the movies unless they're yours and you know how much he likes Star Wars.”

“Played by your ten-year-old, ehh?”

“Not exactly.” She sounds tired. “I want to think you're a better person now, Killian, but I've seen too many people who can't grow up from stupid fratboy and I don't want Henry to be disappointed.”

“You're jaded, Swan,” Killian says, not for one second believing this is all for Henry's sake. She's afraid for herself like she always is. He wishes she could just see past it. “Can't you just trust me?”

“No.”

It's blunt, clearly no room for explanation. He will never win this battle, but Henry still deserves a good time. Killian sighs, not quite defeated just yet. “I'll drop them off on Friday. He'll enjoy them.”

She sucks in a tight breath. “Thank you.” He hums, and she hurriedly presses on before it gets awkward. “Have a good night, Killian. Thanks again.”

She hangs up before he can say anything and he rolls his eyes. He tosses his phone to the side with little thought and leans a little further back in his chair until he can comfortably view only the ceiling.

He's got an idea. The details are fuzzy—if he's being honest it's probably too forward—but it'll be worth it. It might lead to her beating him, tossing him out of her apartment, maybe even a restraining order but it'll be worth it. It's foolproof.

Or, maybe he'll have a quick chat with David.

*****

“Get out.”

“But, Swan—”

“No. Get out. I told you to come by, drop off the movies, whatever. Not make yourself comfortable and hang out with my kid. Why are you sitting in my living room?”

When Killian arrived at Swan’s small apartment, he’d had an arsenal of excuses and ideas ready to use to nudge his way into her apartment, but he’d lucked out. Henry had been the one to open the door, nearly throwing himself at Killian in excitement when he arrived at seven thirty on Friday night. He had gently dislodged the boy and saved the takeout bag nestled in the crook of his arm from taking a nasty spill.

Henry had led him to the comfortable brown couch, taking the boxset DVDs from him and apparently ignored the fact that Killian was supposed to leave as soon as he dropped off the movies. Killian started to unpack the contents of the takeout as Henry began to chatter.

He hadn't needed any tricks to get into the apartment, and Henry had went along with it, no problem (though he swore up and down he had no idea he wasn’t allowed to let Killian in the apartment). He'd been a little nervous she might actually throw him out of her apartment if he and Henry couldn't sway her like David suggested, but he'd been pretty confident Henry's puppy dog eyes would be enough.

The only problem was Swan, which led back to—

“Why are you sitting in my living room?” Her mouth is pursed and her eyes are narrowed. She would look more frightening if Killian hadn't regularly been at the receiving end of her murderous looks.

Swan sniffs the air. “And why did you bring Mexican food with you?”

“I did some thinking, love,” Killian begins, slowly removing the package of spicy pork tacos he found out from David are Henry’s favorite. The boy perks up expectantly, mumbling an ‘awesome’ and returning to the box set to look at the extra features. “Henry needs a veteran movie-goer to explain the best bits.”

“This is not a good thing, Jones.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and Killian can't help checking her out for just a second. She looks the most at home and comfortable he's ever seen her. She's out of her usual leather jacket and boots uniform, her hair swept back in a low blonde ponytail. She's absolutely unassuming in slouchy black sweatpants and a holey NYPD sweatshirt. She's barefoot and barefaced and she looks lovely.

He swallows uncomfortably as the thought crosses his mind. Not an option, he has to remind himself firmly, as she creeps closer to take a peek at the food. Swan inhales deeply, and glances at him suspiciously even as he pulls out the nacho gringos platter and his personal favorite, chicken chipotle quesadilla. “Taco King, really?”

He smiles. “Surprise, Swan, Mexican food is also my biggest weakness. We have that in common.”

Swan doesn't look impressed, but her annoyance, if it's possible, seems to be waning. He never thought he would be this desperate, but Mary Margaret and David are proud of him, so here he is waiting at her beck and call. Her face tightens. “You should still leave.”

“Mom!” Henry finally looks up, eyes wide and a little bit heartbroken. “He can't! He brought us the movies and food. He has to stay!”

Killian nods eagerly, down turning his lips and adapting his best innocent, sweetest expression. She rolls her eyes. “You know that doesn't work on me, Henry. You should tell your new friend that.”

“It does too, Mom, that's how I got my skateboard,” Henry reminds her keenly. “But what if I need someone to explain to me plot points? He can't leave.” He reaches over and snatches the bag of chips from Killian and digs his hand in to grab the cup of guacamole from the bottom. “Have a chip, Mom, you love guac and salsa.”

“I've watched Star Wars before,” she huffs, “I could explain it all to you.” Swan takes the proffered bag, eyeing the cup of extra hot salsa, then Killian with the same look of distrust and annoyance. She eats it cautiously as if expecting poison and Killian rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to ridicule, but Henry steps in.

“You couldn't, Mom.” Henry's matter of fact, and soft spoken, smiling just enough at his mother to make her smile back. “You told me that you've seen them when you were young, but you didn't love them.” He ignores Killian’s gasp of indignation. “I want to watch them and love them. Killian can do that.”

Killian can see the exact moment that Swan’s little heart twists for Henry.

“Please let him stay.”

Cold-hearted, angry Swan is nowhere in sight now, and it would be hysterical to see her like putty in Henry's hand if it wasn't so sweet. She holds Henry's gaze, judging if she needs to hold her ground, like she knows just how much trouble she would be in if Henry wasn't such a genuinely good kid.

She nods finally. “You can stay.” She pauses so they can cheer and sneakily high-five. “BUT, I get veto power. You do anything rude, nasty, or inappropriate, I throw your butt outta my apartment, no argument. Got it?”

Henry jumps out of his chair, and launches into her arms, tightly squeezing her and thanking her. Swan’s eyes squeeze shut and her face takes on a happy, peaceful expression he has never seen in his presence. Killian looks away almost instinctively, not wanting to interrupt the moment and grabs the boxset, cracking it open to pry out the first DVD.

Henry takes it eagerly from him, releasing his mother, and cheers again. Swan takes a seat on the couch, slipping her legs underneath her, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

“So, you're a giant Star Wars nerd.” She snorts a little, and tilts her head. “Who would’ve guessed: cocky, smooth Killian Jones, is a giant nerd.”

“Not you, for sure,” he huffs, tugging the coffee table closer to the couch so he can easily grab a handful of chips, “I'm one-dimensional to you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just doesn't fit the Jones I know.”

“And you call yourself a detective. That’s all surface, Swan. There is certainly more to me than just acting like a sleazy thirty year old, I swear. I've grown up a little, Swan.”

“I doubt that,” she says, snagging the chip bag from his hand, “But I guess you are different.”

“Oh!” He exclaims, picking up and passing aside Swan’s fish tacos and his own quesadilla. “Is this right? You are freely admitting that I am different?”

“Never said it was in a good way,” Swan laughs. She's not at ease with him at all, but she's trying hard to make it seem so. Killian wonders if she's this ill-at-ease with murderers and crooks as she is with him. It makes him uncomfortable, which is something he's not really used to. He's notoriously good at charming and sweetening attracted female attention, but he tries to ignore it. That is the point of these little situations—make Swan treat him civilly and possibly have her like him before the wedding.

“Have a little faith, Swan, maybe I’ll surprise you,” he says as Henry returns to the couch, wiggling between them and pressing against his mother's side. Killian nudges him with his elbow as the last of the previews finish and the home screen fades in. “The very first of the Star Wars trilogy. Are you sure you’re ready, lad? There is no Rey or Finn in this one. You can turn back if you’re not ready to embrace it.”

“No, no, I’m ready,” Henry insists, propping himself up straight. He’s practically vibrating in his seat. “I just want to know more about the Jedi and the First Order.”

“The Dark Side,” Killian echoes. He remembers the first time he ever watched the series. The first time, his brother surprised him and let him tag along to see the movie. He had been enraptured from the first note, the first glimpse of the words scrolling across the screen. He can only hope that Henry feels the same way.

Henry sucks in a breath as the well-known music starts, but then makes a noise of contention when the words, Episode IV: A New Hope, appears in yellow font. “Uh, Killian, this is the wrong one. I must have put in the wrong disc.”

He starts to push himself off the couch when Killian gently pushes him back down and starts to laugh. KIllian takes the remote and pauses it. “You’re not at all wrong, lad. The proper order to the movies is episode four, five, two, three and six.”

“You really are a nerd,” Swan snorts as Henry gapes at him utterly confused “You can watch the movies in whatever order you want, kid. Chronologically if you like that or Killian’s confusing order.”

“It’s not confusing,” Killian counters instantly. “Listen, lad, the first three movies that came out are the essential storyline and the overall best movies. Episodes one, two and three act as flashbacks.” He gestures to the television that’s still paused on the title sequence so they didn’t miss the description. “So to properly watch the series, you bookend the flashback movies with the original. Hence the order is four, five, two, three and finally six.”

“What about episode one?” Swan asks, scooping up fallen lettuce and licking the creamy, spicy sauce from her fingertips.

“That was a cinematic disaster.” Killian shudders. “It didn’t add anything to the plot, the acting was awful, and the special effects were atrocious.” He glances away from her to Henry. “If you must, watch it, but you’ve been warned.”

Henry glances away from his tacos, and shrugs. “I don’t really get it. I think I’ll just take your word for it.”

“It is confusing,” Killian relents, “but you’re going to love it.”

*****

For the next two and a half hours, it’s just that: movie going bliss.

Within minutes, Henry’s food is cast aside and his eyes are glued to the television. Killian’s just as attentive, but he’s seen it a million times. Even Swan seems to be enjoying herself, and that alone feels like a victory. He leans in every once and a while to share some trivia, watching intently for Henry’s reaction to the Cantina scene and the final battle.

Henry is invigorated by the end of the movie, bouncing in his seat and pleading with his mother to let them start the second one. With some cajoling and swearing on Killian and Henry’s part, they clean up dinner, make some popcorn, and put in The Empire Strikes Back.

Around midnight, Killian starts to doze. It's unfortunate because he misses half the movie, but what's worse is that they notice. Killian wakes up to a sharp elbow to the gut, the movie paused and Henry watching him in accusation, a look eerily similar to Swan’s. “I thought this one was your favorite.”

“It is.” Killian stretches until his back lets out a reassuring pop and he groans loudly. “I was just resting my eyes.”

Henry rolls his eyes. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“Yeah, yeah, we're old,” Swan laughs and swats him across the back of the head. “It’s way past your bedtime anyway, kid. Regina’s coming at nine for your Young Scientists thing.”

“It's the Museum of Natural History,” he corrects her, shuffling to his feet and stopping the credits mid-stream. “We're going to the butterfly conservatory and the new dinosaur exhibit and the old dinosaur—”

“He's been talking about this for weeks,” Swan whispers, eyes never leaving Henry. “This week he wants to be a paleontologist so he can discover new dinosaurs.” Killian nods, humming as Swan gets up to help Henry. “Honey, leave it. Get ready for bed. I'll send the old man home.”

“Watch it,” Killian yawns as Henry skirts passed to his room. “I’m not that old. I just haven't been sleeping well. Early morning, late nights, clients that will not stop pestering me for designs even though Christmas is weeks away.” He rubs his face, and presses his fingers into his eye sockets just for a second to relieve some pressure behind his eyes. “Probably not as stressful as hunting down that serial rapist you guys caught last week, but I struggle.”

“That was not our precinct,” she says, placing the DVD into its case and getting to her feet. “I wish I could have put that bastard away personally.”

“Without a doubt, you've put away far worse men,” Killian says, following her into the kitchen to help clean up. “If you're that firm with me and I’m harmless, I can only wonder what you do with hardened criminals.”

The water is rushing out of the faucet, but Swan isn't washing the dishes that are neatly piled up to the side of the sink. Her shoulders are hunched and Killian feels vaguely annoyed that she's that sensitive. She takes a deep breath, glancing at him over her shoulder as she hastily grabs a dish. “Agree to disagree.”

“Don't be like that,Swan,” he groans, stepping up beside her and snatching a glass right out of her hand to dry it. “We've been having such a good night. It was consensual flirting and ass touching, I swear. It would have been consensual sex too if you hadn't very rudely interrupted us. It was nearly ten years ago, Swan, you need to get over it.”

She spins around. “No, you were swarmy and treated every girl you were ever with like crap. I do not regret protecting Ruby from you and I really don't regret slapping you in the face. You deserved it.”

“Then. It’s been ten years. I am not the same man I was then,” he counters, jabbing his finger at her. “And that right there is the crux of our problem. You can't let it go.”

“It's hard to let go, when nothing has changed,” she hisses, folding her arms over her chest and leaning against the counter. She's physically smaller than him in every way, but her attitude gives a formidable figure. She smirks, nasty and all-knowing. “Even now, you're just trying to woo me because you think that's the only way to get me to be civil, or like you.”

“Woo you?”

She hums. “More food than I can handle, overstaying your welcome for a movie night, buttering up my child.” His face heats up: that is not what's he's doing. He's working toward a goal and doing anything to make Swan like him just enough. “Face it, Jones, you just don't know how to talk to women without trying to pick them up.” 

“I am not wooing you. I’m trying to be a good man, Swan.”

“And you’re doing a piss poor job,” she says frankly.

“I am not! I'm sorry if you feel that I have been treating you poorly. You’re being purposely obtuse and difficult,” he says hotly. “I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart. Mary Margaret and David mean the world to me now that my brother is gone; they are all I have. I want them to have the most incredible, memorable wedding possible and that means us getting along.”

He doesn’t know why, but his hands are shaking. “Maybe you’re right, Swan. Maybe I just don’t know how to have meaningful relationships with women, but I am trying.” He steps away from the counter, feeling oddly vulnerable and frustrated. She’s watching him with wide eyes, an odd look on her face. He wishes she would stop. He starts to walk away, but pauses and turns back around. “I’m willing to try, Swan. If you’re not, then so be it, but it will be your problem not mine. Tell Henry goodnight, you can keep the movies for him to watch.”

He’s halfway out the door when she grabs him by the upper arm and spins him around. “Wait, Jones—I mean, Killian.” It’s the first time she’s ever said his first name and the way it sounds coming from her lips, full and rich, makes him stop in his tracks. “Mary Margaret and David are my family, too. I want them to have a wonderful wedding, just like you do. I might have been a little hard on you. I shouldn’t have been so rude.”

He laughs and it sounds harsh to his own ears. He's almost annoyed that somehow she's always able to get under his skin in one way or another. “You do what you think is best, Swan. You always have and I'm not going to be able to change that. I just wish that you would stop trying to see the worst in me all the time.”

She sighs, pursing her lips. “You're gonna make me say it, aren't you?” She looks embarrassed because she knows it's warranted. He wants her to suffer.

“I can't make you do anything you don't want,” he says calmly, swinging his wool coat over his body and looping his scarf around his neck. He lets the door mostly close and props it open with his foot.

She rolls her eyes. “But I'll completely ruin the moment if I don't. Fine, I'm sorry that I haven't been very cooperative.” She leans against the doorframe, wry smile on her face. “Truce?”

He leans against the opposite wall. “We can do better than that. Are you willing to be friends?”

She blanches but there's a smile on her face. “With you?” She shrugs and pushes herself off the doorframe, a peculiar look on her face as she retreats back into the kitchen. He waits, thinking it best just to leave before it gets too awkward, but her voice carries over the sound of the rushing sink. “I think we can try.”

It's not a promise. It's not a certainty, but it sure feels like a win.

“How do you feel about lunch tomorrow, say twelve thirty?”

The water doesn’t stop, but she turns around strikingly fast with eyebrows raised and an impetuous expression on her face. “Like a date?”

“As if,” Killian laughs, “Friends have lunch together.”

“Not us,” Swan says simply.

Killian nods. “What’s on the menu this week then, Emma?”

“Emma,” she parrots, raising an eyebrow.

“We are friends now.”

She waves it away. “You’re not delivering me anymore food.”

“Live a little,” Killian says. “I’ll ask Henry if you don’t tell me.”

“Stop using my child against me.” Swan narrows her eyes skeptically, no doubt already envisioning how this is going to do horribly wrong. She’s always looking for the ruse, the deceit—it makes her a brilliant detective, but a very insecure person.

“He wants to help,” Killian sing songs, but rolls his eyes when she turns her back on him again. “Fine, I’ll bring waffles, Belgian waffles.”

“I’m not going to ask how you know my favorite breakfast food,” she says lightly, “But I know that you’re going to bring more food anyway, so stick to foods that travel well.”

“Scones, muffins.” He hums. “I’ll be sure to pick things that Henry likes.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a head pop out from behind a door. He makes sure Swan isn’t looking before he throws Henry a thumbs up.

“Sounds like the start of a beautiful friendship,” she says coming from the kitchen with the towel in her hands. She stops, peers down the hallway, and makes a face. “Henry, it’s bedtime. You’ve gotta be up early. I’ll come in just a second.” She waits until her son has disappeared into his room before she turns back to face him. “Anything else, Killian?”

“Killian,” he repeats, eyebrows raised. He’s standing in the middle of her tiny hallway at half past midnight, layered for dreary weather and trying to spit out of the words he wants to say to her. He keeps it simple. “I like it.”

At her confused expression, he waves a hand. “My name. I like that you called me Killian.”

She rolls her eyes, offering a small smirk. “Don’t push it, Jones.”

“Goodnight, Emma.”

“Goodnight, Killian.” He inclines his head and she slams the door behind her. She doesn’t make a comment about her name, but it feels like an accomplishment and Killian spends his bitterly cold walk home feeling surprising warm.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, kudos, subscribing and more!! I'm so excited to keep posting bad boy it's been my baby for so long!!
> 
> To view the artwork, visit swankkat on tumblr, it's phenomenal and I might have cried a little.
> 
> Also this story is most definitely not just one chapter I have no idea why it kept saying it was only one! No matter how many times I tried to go back and change it, it would not budge, but hopefully now it'll be different!

 

 Their newborn friendship doesn't last.

To be honest, it never really starts.

It's not really either of their faults; December rolls in with a bitter cold front and a blizzard that knocks the city out of commission the first weekend. Killian spends most of it drunk on the last of his brother’s most pretentious scotch and completes a few of his most pressing holiday projects.

Killian still sends baked goods for Emma— pumpkin muffins one week, cranberry scones the next, in lieu of Thanksgiving—but she doesn’t comment. He tries to text her, another offer of a friendly lunch, but she doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even invite him over to finish the _Star Wars_ movies.

He tries not to let it bother him.  

And that’s exactly why he winds up complaining about the illustrious Emma Swan to the boys in a busy bar on a Friday night when he should be hunting for his next lady. He’s got a beer in one hand, and a comforting plate of sweet potato fries  in arms’ reach of the other. David’s sitting across from him, and Robin’s next to him, struggling hard not to laugh at his predicament.

Killian doesn’t realize how ridiculous he sounds, but to the others it's downright hilarious. Robin takes a sip of his beer and exchanges another face-cracking grin with David.

“Okay, but explain this: why she won't answer me?”

“She’s a busy woman.” Robin sighs, snagging a handful of tortilla chips also on the table. “She’s a detective and a mother, Killian. You guys are barely friends. She doesn’t owe you anything.”

“I know that,” he answers, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s just that all of my hard work will have been for naught.”

“And what?” Robin asks. “The way I see it, things are much better than they were a month or two ago. You can stay in the same room together without a fist fight, she doesn’t pretend anymore that she hates your pastries, you’ve learned to tolerate her for more than a second. I think it’s great.”

“But,” Killian hedges, voice trailing off. He's almost at a loss for words, a startling thing. He feels like a child, whining about a lost friend; he's despicable. He shouldn’t be upset that he hasn’t seen her in weeks, or be disappointed when Mary Margaret and David’s dinner table is only set for three. He can’t shake her from his mind and it’s throwing off his game.

“Why are you so worked up about this?” David asks. He’s watching Killian with a thoughtful expression,  lips pursed knowingly.

It feels like a trap.

“I already explained.” Killian sighs heavily. “All of my hard work is ruined because Emma cannot be bothered to meet me for a friendly lunch.”

“Emma,” David utters, raising an eyebrow. He hums and inclines his head toward Robin, who’s watching them in consideration. “Interesting.”

Robin answers with a snort and deep drink of his beer. “I don’t think that’s it, Killian.”

“What do you mean, _mate_?” It’s a little more aggressive than he intends, voice going rough at the end. David has a familiar glint in his eyes that he remembers from many late nights, and it’s making him uneasy. “It's nothing. We’ve just come to a mutual understanding about the power of names.”

“I’m not sure that’s all it is,” David says. He drops the deep-in-thought expression and a grin splits his face. “I think you’re a little troubled by something else.”

“What? There’s nothing else that could possibly be troubling me.”

“Quick dismissal.” Robin notes. “I think you’re onto something, detective.”

Killian groans, “Stop, please.”

“Never.” David doesn’t break a sweat. “First thing, we’re sitting in a very busy bar on Friday night, and you haven’t flirted with one woman yet.”

“I have so!” Killian protests half-heartedly. He glances behind David, belatedly taking in the group of scantily-dressed college-age girls near the door. It’s the middle of December; he shivers for them.

And that alone makes him want to groan out loud. He is so old.

“Second,” David interrupts his musings. “You've spent the last hour complaining about Emma Swan.”

“Well, she's getting on my nerves. It's rude of her to not answer me.”

“I don't think that's it,” David says gently. Killian catches Robin rolling his eyes.

“Christ, David just spit it out.”

As expected, David breaks, “I think you have some unexpected feelings for Emma.”

Killian pauses. It feels like the Earth freezes as well, just for a second, as he entertains the idea. He thinks about it—lingering looks and snide remarks that could be interpreted as flirting—and laughs.

Not a chance.

He says just that and David hums noncommittally. “If you say so. You should think about it.”

“Why? Did she say anything about me?” He could kick himself when the words slip out without his intention. He sounds like a teenage girl with a crush. He worries his lip between his teeth; he didn't mean to sound so eager. He is not eager. He swears.

He hurries to correct it. David and Robin are dying of laughter. Killian sighs loudly, nudging Robin with his elbow to get him to stop, “I didn’t mean it like that. I want to know if she thinks any better of me now that I’m trying to be civil.”

It still doesn’t sound right and David sniggers, wiping his eyes with the cuff of his sweater. He can’t seem to get over it. “Oh, Killian, do you like Emma?” He smiles broadly. “I feel like we’re freshmen again, Killian. _Dave, talk to Wendy for me please? Come on, help a mate out!”_ His mocking is totally off the mark, and Killian pouts until David can stop and collect himself enough to speak politely. “So, how do you feel about Emma?”

“Like a lovesick puppy,” Killian quips dryly. At David’s unimpressed look, he sighs loudly. “We're acquaintances. We are civil and slightly less likely to kill each other than we were before.”

“With some lusty feelings now,” David adds on, reminiscent of Mary Margaret. It's been happening for awhile now, but David's started adopting several of her character traits and Killian hates that her perceptiveness is one of them.

“I do not have any lusty feelings!” he vehemently denies, making a face.

“Maybe not lusty,” Robin interjects, shaking his head in distaste of the word, “But you definitely think she's hot. You did a complete double take, my friend, when you saw her in that little dress at the engagement party.”

“That dress was obscene,” Killian says immediately, mind regrettably producing an image of Emma in the tight, leather little number she wore with spindly heels and her hair loose and sensual.

Fuck.

“I'll admit that she is beautiful,” Killian says, deliberating hard on the best way to say it, “but, I do not have any kind of feelings for her. At all.”

“So, all of the baking and the movie night were for no reason other than friendship,” Robin says. He watches Killian for a second, searching his face for dishonesty. When he finds nothing, he pushes away from the table with a chuckle. “I need more alcohol. I'll get the next round.”

“No, no, I thought it was my turn.” Killian starts to rise, but David pins him down with a sharp look and a heavy hand on his forearm. He sits back down with a tight smile. “Or not.”

“It's okay to admit it, Killian,” David says gently once Robin walks away. “I know you're gonna protest, but it's okay. I've known since college that you were interested in her.”

“I am not,” Killian insists, rubbing his forehead vigorously. “Don't you remember, mate? I was interested in Ruby. That’s the whole reason this animosity started.”

“I remember.” David chuckles. “We never understood how things happened exactly.”

“Because it was BS and Swan couldn't admit that she was in the wrong.”

“And you've been reminding all of us about that for years. I've gotten so used to you trying to convince us we shouldn’t like Emma, this is almost a shock to me.” David chuckles again. “And now that you actually know her better, things are starting to change, right?”

“Wrong.”

David sighs and taps his empty glass against the table, searching for Robin’s return with more beer. Killian sympathizes-he also needs more alcohol to get through this conversation. David tries again. “If that's not it then, why are you so obsessed with this?”

“This has all been for you and Mary Margaret,” he answers finally. “I just need her to stop hating me so you can enjoy your wedding without waiting for a brawl.”

“I appreciate that. You're really taking this to heart.”

“Anything for you, mate,” Killian says sincerely. He feels uncomfortable. He's known David for years, and had far more deep, intimate confessions, but this makes him feel particularly vulnerable. His palms are sweaty, his chest a little too tight right now. He wishes Robin would just come back with his beer; he needs something to do with his hands.

“She knows that she was wrong about you,” David says after a long minute. His eyes are kind and watching him curiously. “Give her time to adjust. Emma does not like change, and she does not trust anyone easily.”

“So, how the hell do I get her to like me?”

“A lot of patience,” David suggests.

Killian shakes his head, stifling a chuckle., “She’s not a puppy, Dave. I can’t just train her to behave and give her treats as a reward.” He heaves a great sigh. “Why did I come to you for help? I should have asked Mary Margaret.”

“Definitely ask Mary Margaret,” Robin agrees, swooping in with frothy beers and perfect timing. He slides Killian’s favorite dark stout across the table. “A woman’s advice is always best in this situation.”

“Hey! I tried.” David half-heartedly protests, taking a sip of his beer. “I still think there are some feelings for Emma deep down inside, but I guess you would know best.”

Killian rolls his eyes. It’s vaguely passive aggressive, which is irritating, but he knows David means well. It doesn’t stop him. “Again, mate, really?”

“I’ve been your best friend for years. I know you.”

“You’re wrong this time,” Killian says evenly. “Can we lay off? I’m sick of talking about Swan.”

David huffs like he wants to say more—he has been talking about her for most of the night, but he conveniently forgets now that David’s struck a nerve—but finally, just shrugs. He turns to Robin and finally changes the subject. Killian’s grateful for the reprieve, sipping his beer and letting the easy conversation about Robin’s archery hobby wash over him. Somehow though, he can’t pay attention; his thought drift to Emma Swan, despite his best efforts every time.  

He does _not_ like her. He does not want anything from her. He will admit that his feelings have changed. Things are _different_ now. He’s not attracted to her: he needs something from her, and if that means being a decent human, that’s all it is. Maybe once, in that dark bar all those years ago when they were young, he might have found himself attracted to her, but that has long since passed. The hard knock to his face and her unbearable personality changed that very quickly. Now, it’s nothing more than a friendship—a partnership really. They have a job to do.

Killian comforts himself with that and deliberately forces himself to push the blonde headed detective from his head. He focuses on David and Robin, laughing at Roland’s latest catastrophe and Mary Margaret’s newest DIY design project.  They don’t speak about her the rest of the time and Killian almost feels at peace.

They’re on the way out the door, tugging on coats and shuffling passed the newest group of sweaty, underage college kids, when David insists Robin head home ahead of them. Killian can’t hold back the sigh, feeling that same irritation rise up inside of him. He's not drunk, but he's woozy and unfocused; he won't be able stop if David starts at it again.

“David, I’m done talking about this with you.”

“I respect that, but I think you’re wrong,” David says. He takes a deep breath. “But that’s not about this. I’ll keep my match-making to myself for now.” It brings a faint smile to Killian’s face, and David looks relieved. “If you really wanna figure out Emma, talk to Mary Margaret. She knows Emma inside and out, better than anyone. She’ll know what to do.”

“Mary Margaret always knows what to do,” Killian agrees ruefully. He feels cold and bare, even as he tucks his hands in his pockets. “I’ll give her a call next week. I won’t see Emma anyway, most likely until your Christmas party, so there’s no rush.”

“You’ll just have to see her before then and get your friendship back on track.” Killian nods vaguely. He doesn't believe it. “We'll make sure it happens.”  David nods almost to himself. “But we’ll see you before then, right?” David asks.

“Maybe.” Killian shrugs. “I have a backload of clients that need projects finished before the twenty-third.”

“Come for dinner,” David implores. He sounds more and more like Mary Margaret every day. It's almost worrying. “You always need to eat and my pork chops with applesauce are calling your name.”

“Then I'll be there.”

David brightens instantly and claps him on the shoulder. “Keep your chin up, things will get better with Emma. I know it.” He sounds optimistic, which almost makes Killian want to speak against it just to be contrite. He doesn't though, wishing David goodnight and promising to see him again sometime that week.

* * *

 

It doesn't happen quite like that.

Later that week, Killian receives a frantic phone call from David. It’s almost noon and Killian is lounging in his office, not quite doing all the work he should be doing a week and a half before the holidays. The tiny opals he’d been ignoring get swept into a velvet bag for safe keeping until he gets back to work, and he hustles out the door just in time to catch the subway to make the twelve fifteen appointment.

Mary Margaret is supposed to meet him at the ‘absolutely perfect place’ for their small wedding ceremony and reception. He hasn't seen it in person yet, but Mary Margaret was fanatical about taking pictures when they've visited before, so he basically knows what the space looks like already.

As the Best Man (and owner of his own business), it's his duty to step up when David can't take a long lunch to visit the venue and consult with their wedding planner. Killian is just thrilled to spend his well-deserved lunch break listening to discussions about flower arrangements. He can't wait for the fun parts of his Best Man role. They desperately need to get very drunk and do stupid things before David is officially tied down.

Killian arrives with minutes to spare, panting and cursing his best friends for such short notice. He takes a second to dab at his face with a tissue and check himself over in the mirrored window before he steps through the double doors.

“You would check yourself out on every surface.” Killian spins around, searching for the oh-so-dry voice of Emma Swan. She’s seated at a small table in the corner of the lobby. She’s dressed in her usual outfit, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders with a dark red beanie on her head. The smile on her face is more wry than disgusted, surprisingly. On this cold December day, it warms his soul that she hasn’t quite forgotten how to be civil with him.

She is a surprise though, and he has to smother his initial shock with a laugh. “I’m dashingly handsome, love, what can I say?” He winks at her and her expression relaxes. “Not that I mind, but what on earth are you doing here, Emma? I thought I was meeting Mary Margaret.”

“I thought I was too,” She confesses, glancing at her watch. “She’s going to miss the appointment.” She glances out the window, peering either way down the street, frustration coloring her voice. “Leaving us alone better not have been their plan because I don't know what they want. And I’m betting you don't either.”

“Not at all,” Killian agrees cheerfully. Then he pauses, glancing at her warily. “Wait, leaving us alone?”

Emma tears her eyes away from the bustling street—she can't pick Mary Margaret out of the holiday crowd anyway—and turns to Killian. “It's Mary Margaret and David. They play matchmaker with anyone, especially now that they're both in lovey-dovey land.” She chuckles. “She tried to convince me yesterday that Wendy and Leroy were meant to be.”

Killian chuckles in agreement, very relieved that apparently David hasn't revealed Killian’s weird obsession with Emma Swan’s friendship. He has an inkling this coupling is probably not as innocent as Emma believes it to be, but he's not willing to share that with her just yet.

The sharp click clack of heels and a ringing voice ruins the moment. They both turn toward the front desk where a woman stands, dressed primly in a tight black dress. She's beautiful with high cheekbones, dark brown eyes, and long black hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She's smiles at them, eyes falling on Killian with interest. “Blanchard and Nolan? Are you here for the twelve fifteen appointment?”

Emma gets to her feet, hurrying to the desk. “That's us.”

“That is not us,” Killian hurriedly adds. Emma shoots him a sharp look and the woman perks up. “We're the Best Man and Maid of Honor. The bride will hopefully be coming along shortly.”

The woman instantly relaxes, smirk resting on her face. “My apologies. I'll let Ms. Atkins know you're here.”

“Take your time, love,” Killian says, leaning against the counter. She turns and his eyes fall to her legs and backside. He looks away just in time as she turns the corner.

Emma nails him in the side with her elbow. “Can you keep your eyes to yourself for one minute?”

“It's impossible to look away when a beautiful woman is near me,” Killian says loftily. “And that woman is gorgeous.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “We're not here to get you a date. Call Mary Margaret and find out if she's coming or not. We're going to be screwed if she can't make it.”

“It's innocent flirting, Swan,” Killian insists. “Relax. I know you know damn well how to flirt.” But she's not listening and deliberately turns her back to him to check through her phone. He pointedly does the same and calls Mary Margaret's phone twice before she picks up.

She's stuck in foot traffic further uptown, but thankfully on her way. It's enough to boost Killian’s spirits that he won't be stuck with Emma alone in a hideous mood. He celebrates by engaging the receptionist, Caroline, in easy small talk. It's only an added benefit that Emma's brow furrows more and more every time Caroline outrageously flirts.

By the time, Mary Margaret arrives, red-faced and panting, Emma is back at the small table pointedly ignoring Killian and Caroline. They meet Ms. Atkins, an older woman who’s even more sophisticated, and Killian leaves the lovely receptionist with a wave.

As he expected, the Great Room is charming and homey. He knows that Mary Margaret’s been looking for beautiful but unassuming wedding dresses and the folksy feel of the room that will hold their sweet and simple ceremony is perfect.

They settle down at a round table in the center of the room. Ms. Atkins pulls out a big binder with ‘Nolan and Blanchard Wedding’ written in big letters on the spine. She and Mary Margaret instantly begin talking shop, and Killian feels his stomach drop. He should have pretended he was horribly busy. He should have chained himself to his desk; now he's stuck talking about weddings and flowers and place settings with only Emma for company, and even she looks mildly interested.

He sits quietly for about a minute before he inches his foot very slowly to his right side. He bumps her foot very gently and waits for a reaction.

Emma, however, is already looking at him. She doesn't say a word, just narrows her eyes when he smiles brightly at her attention. He nudges her foot again and she mouths _‘stop it’._

He doesn't, of course, inching his chair closer to Emma’s while Mary Margaret is occupied. “Tell me, love, how are you not bored yet?”

“I am,” she whispers under her breath, still trying to appear at least sort of interested. She sits up a little straighter. “Why are we here?”

“Moral support,” Killian offers. “Do you think we get meal samples? I'm starving.”

“Unless tablecloths are enough for you, I doubt it,” Emma says, pursing her lips. “I missed my lunch for this too. I thought for sure this would be more fun.”

“Why did I tell David I would come in his stead? Was he even that busy?”

Emma chuckles softly enough that Ms. Atkins and Mary Margaret don't even look up—even an earthquake would probably not stop their discussion of centerpieces. “I think you got duped, Jones. He's doing busy work.”

Killian sighs. He was already starting to think that doing anything was better than sitting here. He drums his fingers on the table, glancing from the folksy fireplace in the corner to the statues hanging on the wall. He doesn't think it's going to get any better. “Do you think we could sneak out?”

“Distract and ditch?” Emma sighs too. “I wish.”

“No, we could do it,” Killian whispers excitedly in her ear. His blood is pumping at the idea of an escape plan. It's barely been five minutes and he already wants to rip out his hair. “Fake an illness. I'll escort you back home, of course you shouldn't be left alone, and Mary Margaret can't leave, and we'll be scot free.” Killian leans back, letting the words sink in. “Just picture it. Plump, juicy, meaty goodness in your mouth.” He takes a deep breath as she stills, and speaks as breathlessly as he can. “New York hotdogs.”

She doesn't slap him, she doesn't even glare at him. In fact, she turns away from Mary Margaret and giggles, pressing her hand to her mouth to hide a snort of laughter. Mary Margaret looks up anyway. “Emma? Are you alright?”

Emma hastily coughs hard. “Yeah, just got a tickle in my throat.” She clears her throat. “Was that the blue you were talking about the other day? It's so beautiful.” Mary Margaret gushes, mentioning three outrageous names for colors that Killian only knows from dealing with exquisite jewelry. Emma doesn't stand a chance and smiles and nods with glazed eyes.

When Mary Margaret gets distracted, she turns to Killian, “I need to leave. This is an hour long appointment. I won't make it.”

“I knew you'd see it my way, love.”

“Shut up.” She clears her throat again a little bit louder this time, taking her coat from behind her chair and wrapping it around herself. Mary Margaret doesn't look up, so Emma sighs and fakes a loud, outrageous sneeze.

Ms. Atkins and Mary Margaret both look up, their best friend’s face awash with concern. “Are you sure you're alright?”

Emma sighs, a little too dramatically if Killian has any say. “I think I’m coming down with something. I think I should head out.”

“A cold so close to the holidays?” Ms. Atkins says loftily. She's eyeing Emma with particular worry. “Maybe it's better you leave before you infect the rest of us.”

“You do look like you need a good nap,” Mary Margaret agrees with a soft smile. “I'll be fine. Don't worry about it.”

“Thanks. A nap sounds like a great idea,” Emma says. She eyes Killian and sighs. “I think Killian should come with me. You know, just in case.”

Killian and Mary Margaret share equal looks of confusion—Killian's more out of exasperation that Emma cannot act for the life of her—but Mary Margaret’s confusion dissolves into poorly concealed excitement.

“Of course,” she says with a bright smile. “Just in case. Call me later and let me know how you're doing.”

Emma nods and nearly drags Killian out of the Great Room. She waits until they're out of earshot to lean against the wall and groan. “We're going to hell. We just used our best friends’ obsession with match-making to get out of helping her prepare her wedding.”

“It'll be worth it. I wouldn't have been able to handle any more talk about tablecloths. No wonder David bailed. I don't even blame him.”

“Hell will be worth it,” Emma reluctantly agrees. She shivers and makes a face.  “I am never getting married.”

“Ever?”

“Well,” she starts and sighs. “No. I want to eventually, but not like this. I'm eloping. Or getting married in the courthouse.” She shrugs. “I don't have enough family anyway to care about a big affair.”

“Nor do I,” Killian says softly. He never really thought about it before, but in his head whenever he eventually found a woman to settle down with, his brother was always by his side as his Best Man. And now, he won't. His breath catches in his chest, a faint, burning pain right in the center of his chest and belly that he vehemently pushes aside. He doesn't have time to think about that right now (not ever, if he has it his way, though he knows better than that).

Emma smartly doesn't comment and nods, leading him across the main lobby. “Let's get out of here, those hotdogs are calling my name.”

Killian pushes aside the last bit of his sadness and smiles brightly. “I am starving. This is the best idea I have ever had.” They're just opening the door when there's a ringing voice. Killian and Emma turn instantly, and he spots Caroline carrying a binder and stepping out behind the desk. KIllian nods at her. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“I’m glad I caught you then.” She bats her eyelashes at him, smirk growing on her lips. “I didn't take you for an interior decorating kind of man.”

Killian takes a step back into the building. “I was really only here for moral support. She, on the other hand.” He gestures to Emma who's on the other side of the door, watching them with tightly pressed lips. “She's supposed to stay here to help pick china patterns and tablecloths.”

“And I am not the interior decorating kind of girl,” Swan says lightly. “So we're heading out.”

Caroline’s face falls. “Oh. I thought maybe I could grab you before you leave.” She twirls a finger through her hair and holds out the other to him with a small paper. “I have something for you.”

He exchanges a glance with Emma and she rolls her eyes and gestures for him to go forward. He does and grabs the paper with the smile. Caroline presses the binder to her chest and crosses her legs as she sits down at the desk. “You should give me a call.”

“Will do.” Killian glances at the paper, at the fat bubble writing, and folds it twice before stuffing it in his pocket. Smiling broadly, he turns to Emma. “Ready, love?”

She takes her time to look at him and heads out the door into the freezing December air. She waits until he’s following behind her before she speaks. “You're not taking your new friend to lunch? I'm surprised.”

Killian laughs. “She is not my type, love. A little too aggressive for my taste.”

“And yet you took her number?”

Killian scratches behind his ear. “Of course, what would I have done? Told her probably not, or maybe if I’m bored. That’s just cruel, Swan. Even I’m not that kind of guy.” She accepts it as truth. She probably wouldn’t have done anything different. Killian pauses in thought, glancing from her pursed lips to sharp expression. “Were you jealous, Swan?”  

“Definitely not,” she says. “I'm just not impressed with how many women fall at your feet.”

“Innocent flirting, love.” Killian laughs as they set off. “It happens a lot. I'm a naturally charming person, even if you don’t think so.”

She laughs. “I’m glad that I’m not falling for that.”

“Oh no, it’s worse for you, love,” Killian says lightly, nudging her with his elbow. “You actually get to experience the real me.”

“The horror,” Emma mocks. She pulls her beanie tighter over the tips of her already red ears.

“Sarcasm doesn’t befit you.” He pouts and she laughs in his face. At least that hasn't changed; she enjoys pissing him off just as much as he does. He pauses. “Think about it, Swan, we’ll finally have our lunch together.”

“Strictly as friends,” she says with a shudder, but he hopes it’s more humorous than real. She lets out a little groan when they turn another corner and find a decent hot dog stand. “There’s one now. Thank god. I feel like I’m going to die of hunger.”

Surprisingly, no one else is waiting and they step right up. Emma orders two with everything and Killian follows suit. They fall quiet as they wait and pay for their food, but Killian doesn’t try to fill the silence with small talk like he normally would. It’s a bit awkward, but companionable and it’s better than what it could have been less than a month ago. As much fun as it is to piss off Emma Swan, getting punched, slapped, or reprimanded was never as enjoyable.

Once they collect their food, however, Killian directs them uptown toward both their work places. It's too cold to do much else outside and both of them are in a hurry. Holiday foot traffic clogs them around Midtown as expected and when they get stuck behind a huge crowd, Killian tosses out one of his wrappers and turns to Emma. “Are you going to the holiday party this year?”

“I am,” she says around a bite of food. She swallows. “First time we'll both be there in a few years, right?”

Although they've hated each other since college, it actually hasn't been intentional that they've missed David and Mary Margaret’s holiday parties over the years. Killian traded off spending the holiday in London with his brother and Emma—at least the first few years—spent Christmases with Henry’s father.

“First since 2012,” Killian says. “And this year we will not kill each other. That’ll be a first too.”

“We will not have a repeat of 2012,” Emma agrees. They start walking again and she takes one last bite before chucking it in the nearest trash bin. “We've had a lot of ridiculous fights over the last few years.”

“I promise this year I will not accidentally dump a drink on you,” Killian swears, holding up his fingers in a poor imitation of a Boy Scout’s honor.

“And I won't kick you in the balls,” she says, pausing and offering a half smile. “Again. How do you still have working semen after how many times I've kicked your ass?”

“Resiliency is key, love,” he answers with a wink. They're nearing the precinct. He's basically memorized the area around the precinct lately, he's been there so many times. Killian can't believe he's having a normal conversation over hot dogs with Emma Swan. “We've come far, Swan.”

“In just a few weeks,” she says. “All in the name of Mary Margaret and David.” She waves half heartedly at one of the other detectives that's coming back from his lunch break. Killian waves too when the detective nods at him. “How the hell do you know Leroy?” she glances at him and rolls her eyes. “I forgot you've been stalking me. What a silly question.”

“I've been friends with Leroy for years, Swan, don't get paranoid on me.” She grumpily glares at him, but he can't help but continue. “And I've been providing you with breakfast, Swan, not stalking. If you had a problem with it, you would have taken care of it by now. I think you secretly enjoy having delicious and occasionally healthy breakfast treats in the morning.”

She gives him the stink eye and it's a bit hilarious because he knows he has her. They stop at a streetlight near the precinct and Killian stuffs his hands in his pocket. She crosses her arms over her chest. “Well, thank you for helping me escape.”

“It's mutual, Swan. I wouldn't have lasted another five minutes talking about tablecloths.”

“Or seating arrangements.” She shudders. “I never thought you'd have to put that much thought into whose mother and great grand-aunt can't sit near each other.” They both mutually cringe, but it's bittersweet because neither have any relatives left. She takes a step back and nods at him. “I'll see you next week, Killian. Have a good night!”

He bids her the same and waits for her to turn away and do a quick little sprint up the steps of the precinct. She doesn't wave at him, but when the glass door closes behind her she does look over her shoulder at him. He smiles and nods his head and only starts toward his shop when she smiles at him in return. It's a little too cold to sit and question how he feels about it, so he pushes it aside, braces the weather, and heads back to work.

* * *

 

As it turns out, Killian is subdued for David and Mary Margaret’s Christmas party. The day's starts off bad: the weather is crummy, sleeting and cold. He’s drenched and his boots are waterlogged from walking in the slush by the time he gets to work.

While he's there, he doesn't get much accomplished. The reminder for his cancelled trip to London to visit his brother pops up on his work calendar and he grabs a bottle of rum he normally only brings out when he's working late into the night. He doesn't finish any of the work he thought he would get done and leaves at the end of the day more frustrated than when he started.

Killian's in no mood to be festive when six o’clock rolls around. He’s already taken a fortifying shot of rum, but it did nothing to make him feel better. He’s been here many times before—he's gonna have to get wasted in order to not feel anything.

Killian can't pinpoint why he feels so miserable today, but he chalks it up to holiday stress and general misery. He bears it, gets dressed in a form-fitting dark blue sweater, and heads out into the dirty New York slush.

His mood doesn't improve when he gets to the party. About half the guests are there—friends he knows from college and others he knows from other parties—and he makes the rounds as expected. He greets Regina and Robin, runs around with Roland, Henry and the other children, and teases Mary Margaret and a few of her closest teacher friends.

Killian eventually winds up grabbing a bottle of Jack from the packed drink cart in the corner and slips out the window to hang out on the tiny fire escape. It's snowing now, lightly thankfully, so he doesn't get soaked, but it's still bracing. It grounds him a little and slowly he feels a little bit more like himself.

He knows deep down why he's upset. He just doesn't want to acknowledge it at all. Months ago, he planned to be in London for Christmas. Share Christmas dinner with his brother and their dearest friends and top off the night with drinks at the pub to honor their mother’s Irish roots. Instead, his brother is dead and he's alone.

His brother is dead.

His big brother is dead.

Liam is gone.

No matter how many times he says, no matter how many times he pictures his brother’s broken body in that hospital bed and mangled car in the dump, he still can't believe that Liam is dead. He's trashing the five stages of grief—he hasn't even moved beyond denial and it's been almost five months. It's easy now that he's in New York. He can go through his day without reminders of his brother and can easily imagine that Liam is just too busy to call him. Sometimes he’ll dial his brother’s number, and he'll come to a shuttering halt when the announcement is made that the number is out of service.

It doesn't feel real and it's a knife in his gut every time it hits him. He's supposed to be taking an awful red eye flight to Heathrow tomorrow. Liam was supposed to pick him up and drag him to breakfast at their favorite pub. He was supposed to spend a week in Liam's guest room and tease the newest girl Liam deemed ‘the one’.

But he won't anymore.

He drinks half the bottle without even realizing it.

The window to the fire escape creaks open and a slim pant leg swings over the ledge. He glances at the dark black boots and catches a flash of blonde and takes another gulp. He's not in the mood right now to flirt and run his mouth.

“We're getting ready to do the gift exchange soon.” She wraps her sweater tighter around her body. “Jesus, it's freezing out here. How are you only wearing that? Where's your jacket?”

He shrugs; he hasn't noticed at all. “When did you become my mother?”

“If you haven't noticed yet, I’m Henry’s mother and definitely not yours,” she scoffs loudly and steps up to the railing next to him. She presses close to his side as she shivers and he obligingly wraps an arm around her. She laughs loudly, sharply, and snags the bottle of booze from his other hand to take a deep drink.

“We’re opening the gifts soon,” she repeats. “You love showing off what gift you brought. You should come inside.” He glares at her and tries to shake her off to grab for the bottle. She keeps it far out of his reach. “Nope. This is top quality booze, you can't keep it to yourself.”

“I can too,” he says indignantly. “I need it more than you.” When she pauses, he snakes out a hand and snatches the bottle. He puts the mouth of it to his lips and speaks around it. “You have a great kid and great friends and I have nothing.”

Swan pauses and for a split second Killian regrets how loose his mouth gets when he's drunk. But she doesn't speak and his annoyance wavers just a little. Emma takes another drink—smaller more thoughtful this time—and hands it back to him.

They sit in silence, listening to holiday road rage, sirens and shouting down below until she speaks, voice surprisingly uncertain and soft. “My foster parents didn't care about me like that, I was a money horse. I was closer with a foster sibling or two—I still see August occasionally— but we passed through houses so fast we didn't connect. Mary Margaret was the first real friend I ever had. Someone I trust without worry.” She sighs. “I've never had a mother or a father, but Mary Margaret and David became my family.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, turning to fully look at her. She doesn't look sad; maybe wistful, but she's had many years to start to come to terms with her parent's death.

She actually laughs. “Thank you, Killian, but that's not the point.” She leans just a bit closer to him, this time seemingly without an ulterior motive. “I figured out early on how to be alone and it's not a happy place to be. Maybe it's safer, but it's lonely.” She places her hand very lightly on his arm. “I know right now it's very comforting to let yourself fall into your despair, especially during the holidays, but you can't let it drown you. I learned the hard way and I was very lucky that David knew how to help me help myself.”

Killian doesn't want her advice. He doesn't want anyone to try to help him. He wants to share a drink with his brother and, more importantly, he wants to find the drunk driver that murdered his brother and get his revenge.

“I just—” He trails off. He can't get his voice to produce the words.

“You miss him,” Emma says. He can practically hear feel her watching him and he hates it.

He fumbles with the bottle in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the cool, smooth rim. It doesn't ground him, nothing can right now when he's spinning wildly out of control. He takes another sip of the whiskey. He can't even taste the bite anymore; it's like water. He swishes the last of the liquid in the bottle for her to finish and she downs it without complaint.

“All the time,”Killian finally says. She wipes her mouth hastily and glances at him perplexed.  He licks his lips before clarifying. “I miss him. All the time.” He swallows hard. “My shop is his creation. I used to love finding little treasures, but he had the business head. Our profits and eligibility are his doing. Everything that I am is because of him. I can't do anything without thinking of him and I hate it.”

“And you will get through. It'll get easier. It won't always hurt so much,” Emma says. She tightens her grip, reminiscent of that first night at the bar, but for an entirely different reason. “It won't be so hard to say his name. You'll be able to breathe without it hurting.”

Killian laughs harshly. He can’t ever see that happening. He can’t wake up in the morning without the crushing reminder that his brother is dead. He can put it aside normally, but today is too hard. Today feels like it could never be different. “What could you possibly know?”

“Neal. Henry’s dad, my first—” she steadies herself. “My first love, died a few years ago. **I** t's not the same at all, but we shared a life together. We had a baby together.” She shrugs. “I took his death very hard but I had to keep it together for Henry.”

Killian feels a little more embarrassed than self-pitying now. He remembers it now: about five years ago, when Emma and Henry fell off the face of the Earth for a few months. David and Mary Margaret had been panic-stricken and had ramped up their usual obsessive mothering to drag her out of whatever state she had been in. Her behavior made more sense now.

“You’ll have a lot of ups and downs,” Emma says, sliding her hand down his forearm to hold tight to his hand.  “Holidays, especially, make it worse but it’ll get easier if you share your memories and embrace your brother than trying to stuff your feelings inside.” She pointedly gives his hand a healthy squeeze. “You can’t hide all your pain behind charming wit and sarcasm, Killian. Believe me I’ve tried.”

He laughs and he's surprised that it's watery. That hot feeling is rising in his throat and tears are picking the corners of his eyes. He takes his free hand and wipes them away before tears can possibly fall, especially in front of Emma Swan. To her credit, she's not even looking at him. She’s watching the lights flicker and music pound in the apartment across the street and probably trying to decide if it needs police attention.

Even though she's visually not paying that much attention, her thumb is still soothingly rubbing the top of his hand. It's distractingly thoughtful and he's able to swallow back the rest of sadness.

“I've been excited all week for this party,” he says. “I wanted to enjoy it.”

“And you still can,” Emma says, whipping her head around toward him. Snow glints off her hair. “We go back inside and enjoy the party. Drink some more, laugh some more, and enjoy yourself. I don't know about you, but work has been shitty, money's tight, and my vacation time has been cut again because New York is always dangerous. I want to enjoy this party and I know you do too.” She finally removes her hand from his in a fit of emotion. He misses the warmth and the comfort almost instantly. “Celebrate your brother’s life.”

Killian takes a moment, breathes in the brisk December air and let's the feeling come back to him. His hands are cold—honestly, his whole body is frozen—and tears in his eyes feel like icicles, but he feels a little better than before.

“Never knew you could be quite so uplifting.”

“I’m just full of surprises, Killian.” She laughs and heads to the window. “Come on. Let's go inside.”

Killian watches her go, listens intently for the hushed questions that should follow, and is surprised to hear none. Instead, there are cheers and the overly festive Christmas music just gets louder. He glances up at the sky, tries to peer through the clouds for the stars and moon. For a second, he can't see anything, the sky’s too murky, too polluted. But then he squints a bit above the opposite apartment building and sees a twinkling light. The waning crescent moon is glinting in the distance and he feels a break in his chest; he knows his brother is here. Killian takes a deep breath, salutes the sky, and follows Emma back into the apartment.

* * *

 

The Secret Santa gift exchange is successful, as it is mostly every year. Killian emerges with a handsome new leather wallet from Leroy, and Regina receives a brilliant opal pinky ring that looks a lot more expensive than it was to make.

He's just ducking away to the kitchen to grab another cup of coffee when Mary Margaret corners him in her small, overflowing kitchen. Killian has been expecting it since he and Emma came back from the fire escape and he's actually surprised Mary Margaret has lasted so long. Normally her protectiveness and curiosity weigh out long before she can hold herself back.

Her dark eyes are wide and unassuming as a baby deer when she looks at him over her shoulder. “So, you and Emma had quite a talk before.”

He can't quite tell if she means their ‘blossoming’ relationship or his obvious depression, so he props himself against the counter and opts for the one that hurts less. “Do not match-make us, Mary Margaret. David has already tried and it is not going to work.”

She smiles at him innocently. “Are you sure?”

He scoffs. “Positive. Friendship is more than enough.”

“David told me you needed to talk to me about Emma,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

“A few weeks ago. We've kind of sorted it out ourselves,” Killian says. She looks mightily smug at that and it's his turn to observe her suspiciously. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” she says turning around to face him. She cradles a mug and presses it close to her mouth to inhale the sweet sharpness of Irish coffee. “Sure, you don't want a nip in your coffee?”

“I just drank an entire bottle of whiskey,” he scoffs. “I'm hoping not to die tonight. I'm not as young as I used to be.” She laughs and he can see her shoulders ease of tension. That reminds him: “Don't deflect. What did you do? I know you and David had a hand in this.”

“We only helped,” Mary Margaret protests. Killian's glad that the Christmas music —and drunken singing to ‘Dominic the Donkey’—is loud enough to drown out their conversation. He groans and rolls his head to the ceiling. She sighs, “David missed just one meeting with the wedding planner. You did the rest of the work.”

He feels vaguely played; he really should have known better than to think he had a handle on this situation. Mary Margaret knows it too and smiles at him. “Emma is a tough nut to crack, but once you do she is a loyal, dear friend.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” Killian admits. He takes a sip of his coffee, treasuring the taste of it—dark and bitter. He’s not quite so stupidly, emotionally drunk anymore and he feels a bit embarrassed that Emma Swan, of all people, caught him at one of his lowest moments.

“How are you, Killian?” Mary Margaret asks softly. She crosses the tiny space to settle next to him. “I’ve been trying to give you space and not push—and you know how hard that is—”

“I was pleasantly surprised you haven’t bothered me every minute of every day.”

“Stop it.” She smacks him lightly on the shoulder and settles back down with her cheek pressed against his shoulder. “I mean it. Holidays are really hard and I know you went out on the balcony in a pretty bad place, talked with Emma, and came back in a slightly better mood.”

“She didn’t spark an epiphany if that’s what you’re thinking,” Killian denies immediately. “She provided some well-needed ass kicking. I was falling too far into that self-pitying place and Emma, shocking I know, somehow knew what I needed.”

“She’s pretty good at that,” Mary Margaret says with a proud smile.  She’s quiet for a minute and he knows what’s coming. He knew it the second he stepped into the apartment in a not so great mood. He had been able to avoid their questions early on—Mary Margaret and David were too good hosts to ignore their other guests—but he knew one or both would catch up with him. “I know we really haven’t talked much about it, but how are you handling all of this? It hasn’t been more than three months, it’s the holidays, and you went right back to work.”

Killian manages to muffle his sigh with great difficulty. He loves Mary Margaret a lot, but sometimes her compassion is something Killian neither wants nor needs. He just wants to forget it. “I appreciate it, but I’m trying. I don’t wanna talk about it right now.” She shifts beside him and he knows that she’s unhappy. “I swear I’m working on it. I'm going to be unhappy for a bit. You said it yourself: it's only been a few months, and this holiday is making it worse.”

“We're here to help, Killian. Anything you need, if you want to vent or cry or anything.” Her grip on him tightens suddenly and he feels awful for making her and David worry so much about him. He wraps his arms around her in a tight squeeze and she returns it. “We're here for you.” She nudges him just a little as they pull out of the hug. “I'm sure Emma wouldn't mind helping you out again if you need it.”

“My God,” he groans, running his hand through his hair. “Do you ever stop?”

“Never.” She winks and grabs her coffee from behind him. Mary Margaret sways a little and sing songs in a low crooning voice. “You like her. You think she's pretty. You want her.”

“I'm leaving.” He announces, stepping away from her even as he watches in amusement. Mary Margaret rarely lets herself go enough to be drunk and singing, so he knows this party was truly quality. “I'll get David. He loves it when you get like this.”

“And I love David.” Mary Margaret agrees readily, dopey smile on her face, taking another sip of her coffee. He's beginning to think that the night is finally catching up to her and can't help but laugh.

“And he'll be here in a second,” Killian says. He spins around and, in the doorway of the little kitchen, almost walks straight into Emma. She stumbles backward with a little _oof_ , reaching out with her hand to grab his arm to stay upright. “Sorry, love, I didn't see you there.”

“It's fine,” she brushes off with a slight smile, slowly letting go of his forearm. “Mary Margaret, do you have another…” She trails off and Killian looks away from her to also glance at Mary Margaret, who’s smiling at them very smugly and pointing at the top of the doorway.

“Mistletoe.”

Lo and behold, tied neatly to the tip of the doorframe, is a sprig of mistletoe. It's innocuous enough that Killian simply just ignored it before, and now he regrets it.

Emma looks like he does; her face oddly pinched and annoyed. “No,” Emma says. “I won't. This is ridiculous.”

“You've gotta kiss,” Mary Margaret urges. “It's simple and easy. Just a kiss.”

“Yeah, Mom,” Henry agrees from the other side of the doorway, from where he must have followed his mother. They're attracting a crowd now, other members of the party are gathering closer and ignoring the music. “You kissed me before when David showed you the other one. You told me its tradition, remember? You have to.”

“It is tradition,” Killian murmurs in agreement. “What do you say, Emma?”

“No.” She crosses her arms over her chest, giving him the stink eye. “We've just become good friends. We don't need anything more.”

“It's just a kiss,” Mary Margaret says. “It doesn't have to mean anything.”

“If she doesn't want to, she doesn't have to.” David is against the nearby wall with his drink in hand watching them in bemusement.

“Thank you,” Emma says in exasperation.

“But I've kissed at least four people already,” David finishes, casually sipping his drink. “It's a party, Emma, we've done a lot worse. You’ve done a whole lot worse.”

Emma groans, well aware of the truth of that statement, but she doesn't move away from Killian like she should. In fact, she takes a step toward him, latches her fingers into his soft sweater and yanks him toward her. “Fine.”

The kiss is fast and over before he knows it. It's just a press of her lips against his, but it's enough to send sparks through his system. Her lips are soft and plump; she kisses exactly how he thought she would—not that he's thought about it—fierce, passionate and oh-so-very in charge. When she's pressed so close, nearly chest to chest, he can feel the warmth of her through her loose sweater and the strength in her stance.

“Happy now?” she snaps when she releases her grip and pushes him back.

“Very.” He recovers quickly, throwing a wink her way. Her cheeks redden as the crowd around whoops and shrieks in drunken happiness. He feels like an inflated helium balloon—loose in the sky and too full of air. All his problems and fears seem minuscule now that he's kissed Emma Swan. “I never knew you could kiss like that, love.”

“Don't get too excited, Jones.” She laughs, voice taking on that sharp, uncomfortable quality he hasn't heard in a while. “That was a one-time thing.”

“Wasn't counting on it,” he retorts. Somehow at the slightest inclination of rockiness of their not-quite friendship, they resort to bad behavior and snark.

“Good.” She turns on her heel and busies passed him. David catches his eye as he watches her storm through the group and makes a gesture he can't quite decipher. Killian decides to ignore him and retrieve his coffee. He might put whiskey in it anyway.

He forgets that Mary Margaret is on this side however, and she's watching him with that sweet innocent smile she's perfected. “So you and Emma, huh?”

Killian scowls at her. “It meant nothing.”

“And that's why you're putting whiskey in your coffee.”

“It meant nothing,” he repeats, liberally pouring more than necessary in his cup. He wishes what he were saying were true, but he can't help but think of her lips on his and way her hair smelt like lavender and vanilla when she pressed herself to his chest. He shouldn't be thinking of her this way. It won't end well. He tries not to look through the doorway to catch a glimpse of her. “We're strictly friends.”

“And yet I feel like I could cut the sexual tension with a knife.”

He can feel it too -- not that he could ever admit it. To be really honest, it's _always_ been there. From the first moment he saw her, young and kind of awkward (but always strong and fierce), he had been attracted to her. If he had a type, she would be it. And that had actually been his plan the first night. Classic College Killian action. Flirt with her friends, gather their interest, and finally swoop in on the one that is the hardest to get and knock her off her feet. It hadn't gone according to plan and he wound up with a black eye and a very sore crotch.

And here he is now. He just fucking kissed Emma Swan and he can't think about anything else but the way she tasted like cinnamon liqueur.

He's so fucked.

“It's not one sided, Killian,”Mary Margaret says. She wraps a hand around his forearm to bring him back to her level. She takes the bottle from him and pours a little more in her cup. “It’s not one sided. She wouldn't be this worked up if it didn't mean something.”

“It didn't mean anything,” Killian answers sharply. He takes a deep breath, trying to stop. She's just being helpful but it's like a knife to the gut and he's not ready for more torment tonight. Killian stops and holds up a hand to his ear. “I think David needs you, Mary Margaret. He just called for you.”

“Did he?” she asks skeptically, but she leaves anyway, grabbing her drink and heading back into the party.

Killian makes a face to her back and mumbles an annoyed curse to her back. She can't hear him, but it releases a little amount of the anxiety growing in his chest again. He doesn't stay in the kitchen long, only one song changes in the meantime, but it's enough for him to slow his heart and firmly bury his feeling about the kiss.

The living room is bustling with a half hearted drinking game and a Christmas movie playing in the corner for the kids. Music is still playing over it all and everyone is so drunk and enjoying themselves that they don't even notice when Killian reappears.

If he's a little more preoccupied than before, no one notices. He slumps next to David in one of the extra folding chairs and watches contently as David brutally loses to Robin and Leroy at Bullshit. Killian pointedly tries not to look for Emma and fails pretty miserably. He searches for her without even trying and accidentally makes eye contact more than once. To her credit, she looks away as soon as it happens, but she looks a lot less flustered than he feels.

Killian knows he's screwed. It's not a surprise. He'll watch her from afar and swallow his pure attraction and want. He can easily pretend that he doesn't want to put his hands all over her body or that the very image of her on his bed, messy hair and lithe body sprawled naked, doesn't make him hard as a rock.

But he's made peace with it. Emma Swan does not possibly see him as anything more than a casual friend and for now, that's enough. Killian can handle that. He'll still provide her with weekly breakfasts and stretch his limitations of friendship as far as it can go.

And if something were ever to happen, well, he wouldn't object.

 


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so thrilled with the response to this story :) I'm so glad you guys are as hyped for Captain Swan as I am! Thanks for those wonderful comments, favorites and subscriptions, can't wait to see what ya'll think of this one! (; 
> 
> As always, art is by the incredible swankkat on tumblr and beta read by accio-ambition also on tumblr.
> 
> *Warnings this chapter*: Language, Sexually explicit content

 

**PART THREE**

The holidays pass with little incident. Killian has Christmas dinner with David and Mary Margaret. Emma and Henry spend the day with Henry’s father’s side of the family; Killian doesn’t see them again until Regina and Robin’s New Year’s Eve party.

The party is extraordinarily boring. It's the first year in a long time he doesn't bring a date or drag his brother to the party. He thought about inviting Carolyn the assistant wedding planner, but he wasn't quite that desperate. It doesn't take him long to wish that he did; it takes great strength not to show how much it bothers him when he spots Emma and Graham making out on Regina’s balcony just shortly after midnight.

Killian then spends the first half of January trying to figure out if he's grown up at all. He’s still going after women and drinking more than he should on a night out, but the rush he used to get just isn't there anymore. It's boring and stagnant. He thinks that David was right: maybe he isn't happy with his old life. It doesn't seem so tried and true anymore, especially now that he had that _moment_ with Emma. He wants more. Not that he wants domestication, but he wants stability—someone to come home to at the end of the day and he knows if they could get passed their animosity, Emma could be the one.

It's only worse because it's clear Emma does not want the same thing.

Emma flits in and out of his life. He accepts that she's busy being a working, single mother, but he's finding it harder to handle this time around. Emma’s initial awkwardness dissolved quickly and they've reverted back to their pseudo-friendship. The sexual tension is still there, but Emma doesn't seem to notice and it stays perfectly platonic. She parries his innuendos and implications without flinching, even sometimes smiling when he says something particularly sly. She's still sexy as ever, intimidating and strong, and so very unattainable.

Killian tries his best to put it aside, but his duties as Best Man make it difficult. The wedding is fast approaching—even though there's still almost four months left—and that means Emma is working with him at every step. They’re busier than ever helping Mary Margaret and David prepare, especially since they all have full time jobs.

Killian's spends his free time designing the wedding bands. He spends many nights hunched over his desk, tinkering with different settings and stones to create the perfect bands.

That's the easy part.

Even the rest of the wedding prep is simple enough. There's still enough time left that Mary Margaret is pleasant to be around, and he willingly attends tux fittings, meal tastings, and even a meeting once or twice with the wedding planner.

No, the hard part is working with her. He had thought he was going to get away scot-free: he would plan the bachelor party, she would plan the bachelorette, he would plan his toast and get David ready to be married, and Emma would do the same for Mary Margaret. Easy.

He never expected the future Nolans would want a Jack and Jill combined bachelor party. Thinking about it, he really should have expected it, they have all the same friends and neither has any desire to be with anyone else. So now, he’s stuck working with Emma to put together the perfect winter wonderland weekend getaway.

They've figured out the general plan so far: they’ve rented a cabin up in Vermont that can fit at least ten people, a handful of Mary Margaret and David’s friends have already agreed to go, and the package includes activities at the local ski resort. It's not quite as rustic as they hoped, but they're sure this is exactly what the couple is looking for.

It's just the details that they need to sort out and that's what has gotten him most tied up in knots. Today, he's meeting Emma for a cake testing. It's planned—mostly because Mary Margaret and David couldn't make it, so they're going in their stead, but he knows they'll spend most of it figuring out details and planning the trip. He's fine with it, he swears. It's not like he's kind of viewing this like it's anything more than a very platonic dessert meeting between friends.

(But he kind of is.)

So that's how he finds himself leaning against the rough wall of the Two Little Red Hens bakery, waiting to meet Emma, shielding himself from the cold late January wind and trying not to pitch a fit at Mr. Smee’s utter incompetence.

“It's on my workbench, near the files, next to the lamp...no,no the other lamp. On the other side of my tools...not in the pile, Jesus, it's in plain sight—” He rubs his fingers over his eyes. If Mr. Smee, can't  find the design for Ms. O’Sullivan’s very expensive three-tier necklaces, he might not even be able to stick around.

“You watched me put it away. How can you possibly not know where it is?” He sighs as his colleague mumbles excuses. He slowly opens his eyes to look upward into the smoggy, grey sky. He wonders if it'd disappoint Emma if he had to leave. She had been surprisingly positive about the Jack and Jill ordeal; she had even been the one to suggest that they could handle the cake testing together and that it would be better to kill two birds with one stone.

There's a faint honking and he turns absently, catching sight of a familiar blonde walking toward him instantly. Emma spots him at about the same time, hurrying her pace and waving. Killian musters up a smile for her, turning the phone away so he can properly greet her without Smee getting nosy. “Swan, you're looking lovely today.”

She nods, an embarrassed smile appearing on her lips. She points at the phone. “Working lunch?”

He rolls his eyes. “One minute. I swear.” She grins and he interrupts Smee mid-whine. “I need go. You need to find the design—Oh, it was on my desk. Oops. Carry on then, I'll be back before your lunch.”

She raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment as he hangs up and tucks the phone in his pocket. He feels obliged to explain himself. “Apparently, my workspace is very messy and Mr. Smee can't follow directions.”

She shakes her head. He expects something derogatory to come out of her mouth, but it's not. “Leroy is just like that. Brilliant detective, street smart and tough as nails, but he can't follow directions to save his life.”

“And I may have been a little hasty putting away the designs to get here in time. I didn't want to be late.”

Emma smiles. “Didn’t wanna miss any time with me, huh?”

“Never. I despise spending time with you.” Killian jokes, eliciting a chuckle like he hoped.

“Wasn't that long ago that we would do anything to avoid each other,” Emma says. “Never thought I’d say it, but I think we might be friends now, Killian.”

“Never thought I’d see the day.” He gestures for her to follow him before things can get awkward and they rush into the soothing warmth of the bakery.

“Me either.” She laughs. “I think they have a name for us:  Friends by circumstance.”

It's packed wall to wall with customers, so they press themselves close as they try to make their way to the cash register. The glass case is emptying fast, but Killian can see a long line of bakers behind the counter preparing fresh stock. The fresh smell of baking bread and pies is almost enough to transport him back years to his mother’s small bakery, but he stays grounded with the pressure of Emma’s fingertips on his elbow.

Finally, after some subtle elbow nudging and pushing, they make it to the front. Emm takes charge, tapping the counter to get someone’s attention. “We're here for the Blanchard-Nolan appointment at 12:30.”

“Blanchard-Nolan wedding cake tasting?” one of the girls behind the counter asks, meticulously wrapping two apple turnovers, stashing them in a box, and slapping on a sticker. “Number 420!” She nods at them as the customer steps up. “You're the couple? No problem give us a minute and someone will seat you.”

The girl moves on to the next customer before either of them can correct her. They don't bother to as they shuffled aside and press to the side wall to avoid getting crushed by an arguing family.

Emma laughs. “You wouldn't believe how many times they assume I’m marrying David.” They both wince. “I see him like my brother most of the times. It's so weird.”

“It's worse when they think I’m marrying Mary Margaret. She's picked me up so many times after drunken nights out, she might as well be my mother.” Emma nods hastily in agreement, probably thinking of her own misadventures.

“I guess pretending to marry you isn't the worst thing that could happen to me,” Emma says. Her words are light and joking, so Killian chuckles beside her.

“I would have to agree, Snookums,” with great caution, wraps his arm playfully around her shoulder and lets it settle when she doesn't instantly scream or hit him. “We would make an excellent pretend couple.”

“It would freak out all of our friends,” Emma says.

“Our tentative friendship already blows most of their minds,” Killian counters with a shrug. “If we wound up dating or, God forbid, marrying, I think several would die of shock.”

Emma starts to answer, but is quickly cut off when a teenager in a bright red apron, out of breath and wearing a tight smile, stops next to them. “Blanchard-Nolan? Come with me we have a table ready for you.”

She gestures for them to follow her, and Killian jokingly waves for Emma to go in front of him, “After you, love.”

Emma makes a face in exasperation, but follows the server behind a curtained section of the store they didn't notice upon entering. It's much quieter and cozier, and they take seats with much relief.

“I'm so sorry for the wait,” the server apologizes with an embarrassed smile. “I’m Holly. For your wedding, we have the cake options you selected. I'll bring out the first option for you in just a few minutes.”

Killian takes a second to absorb it. He didn't know there were pre-selected options and he certainly didn't want this server to think they would be deciding on the cake today. Most importantly, he didn’t think the server would think it was _their_ wedding.

“I don't think you—”

“We’re not—”

Both he and Emma try to speak as one, Killian stifles a smile and gestures for her to continue. She does: “We're the Maid of Honor and Best Man. We’re here in the place of the Bride and Groom. We're not actually together.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Holly reddens in embarrassment. “I didn't realize it. I see so many couples every day. Plus, you’re cute together that I just assumed.. I'll get your cakes.” She shuffles off to get them the first option, leaving him and Emma to exchange uncomfortable looks.

“We play it off too well, I suppose,” Killian says lightly. “Good to know.”

Emma laughs, the sudden tension between them easing. “Just in case?”

“I do have dual citizenship. What if it gets revoked? I might need to marry someone in a pinch.” Killian shrugs. “Now I know you're not a bad option.”

“It doesn't work like that.” He rolls his eyes and makes a gesture like he doesn't care. “I would definitely not be your first choice.”

“You might be.”

“Yeah, in your wildest fantasy, right?” Emma jests, pouring herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table.

“My wildest fantasy would definitely not be marrying someone in a pinch to stay in the country,” Killian sighs, his mind conjuring images he's supposed to not be indulging in. “I'm thinking more like a lot of candles and rose petals and maybe silk ties or handcuffs.”

“Much more imaginative,” Emma murmurs, eyes growing a little wide, “true romantic at heart. You're in charge of decorating Mary Margaret and David’s suite.”

“Gladly.” Killian sniffs. “What's your idea of romance? Drinking beers with the boys and watching sports?”

“I am a proud football fan. The Patriots are the best.”

“That's not real football.”

“That's soccer.” Emma tugs her beanie off, smoothing any frizziness and pulls her hair into a low ponytail.

Killian is almost disgusted and starts to answer, but Holly appears with the first cake. It's a traditional buttercream cake. Both he and Emma surprisingly agree that even though Mary Margaret and David would like it, it's too heavy for a summer wedding. They mark it down as a weak ‘maybe’. The next is a red velvet cake with delicious cream cheese frosting. Despite how much Killian enjoys it, they again agree it's too much for a summer wedding and David would never appreciate the rich chocolate. It’s a strong ‘no’.

The arrival of the third cake prompts a groan from both of them. It's not that the cake is disgusting; in fact, it's the opposite. The cake is lemon with blueberry filling, the bakery’s best-seller.

Killian can pack away a lot of food, but not like this. Emma looks similarly unimpressed. She presses a hand to her mouth as she swallows hard. “I apologize for anything I ever said about you fattening me up. I think I just gained twenty pounds right now.”

Holly places the two plates in front of them, each slice a reasonably-sized sample.

“I didn’t think David even liked lemon,” Emma half whispers. They each take a sip, swishing water around their mouths.

Killian shrugs helplessly but digs into the cake anyway. He’s not a big fan of lemon cake, he finds, even though lemon bars used to be a dessert specialty of his. He’s not a fan of the blueberry puree either. It’s certainly refreshing, but it doesn’t agree with his taste buds. He leaves half of it, waiting for Emma to finish hers.

“I like it,” she declares, popping the last bit of it in her mouth and closing her eyes in revelry. “Four out of five stars. Definitely better than straight buttercream one.”

He makes a face. “Too much lemon.”

Emma stops scraping her plate for the last bits of cream. “It’s a lemon blueberry cake. What did you expect it to taste like?” She neatly sucks on her fork, hollowing her cheeks and forcing Killian to look away before something uncomfortable happens. She doesn’t seem to notice what she’s doing. “Get off the red velvet train. They are never going to pick it.”

“I know what I like,” he offers with a shrug, pushing his unfinished slice of cake to her when she starts frowning at him. She brightens instantly and he continues, sipping on his water. “That chocolate ganache was heavenly.”

“That chocolate stuff? Too rich for me.” She pops a bite in her mouth, nearly groaning in pleasure when the frosting melts in her mouth. “God, how do you not like this cake?”

He knows it's rhetorical and doesn't answer. Instead, he watches Emma almost make love to the slice of cake in front of her. He wonders if she always sounds like this when she eats orgasmic food. Tearing his mind from that thought, Killian answers with an exaggerated snobbish sniff that makes her laugh. “I’m sorry your taste buds are not as refined as mine, Emma.”

“Really.” Emma scoffs. She sips her water and eyes him carefully. “You know, I thought Mary Margaret was lying to protect you when she said she didn't help you with the muffins. Maybe you do actually know your stuff.”

“Because of my use of ganache?” Killian laughs. “I suppose I am a man of many talents.”

Emma raises an eyebrow, thinking very hard about it. “You really made all of those muffins and scones? You didn’t buy them from a bakery or use Mary Margaret?”

“I made everything from scratch,” Killian says, feeling almost embarrassed that she believes it as truth now, even though she’s known it the whole time.

“I can’t even boil water without setting off my fire alarm.” She snorts, shaking her head. “How do you know all this? Everything tastes like it should have been freshly made at my favorite bakery.”

“My mother,” Killian says with more lightness in his voice than he feels. He waits for Holly to place the newest cakes in front of them—peanut butter and chocolate chip with chocolate sponge—and leave before he continues. “She co-owned a bakery in London. I used to help her sometimes.” It isn’t possible for him to describe it. He doesn’t know if he could ever describe the peace he felt in his mother’s kitchen, the long days he spent folding dough, surrounded by the scent of rising bread and fruit purees and the sound of his mother singing her favorite old Irish songs.

Emma seems to get that somehow. She doesn’t answer at first, picking up her new fork and twirling it through her fingers. “She taught you well then because you’re food is phenomenal.”

“She taught me everything I know about baking,” Killian explains. “She died when I was twelve.”

“I’m sorry,” she says hesitantly.

Killian smiles. “It was a long time ago, Emma.” He picks up his own fork and takes a tentative bite. The peanut butter tastes chalky in his mouth. He speaks softly like it’s an afterthought, even though it’s hardly ever far from the forefront of his thoughts. “Liam never liked it, but I always found it soothing.”

“Mary Margaret tried to teach me once,” Emma says, voice light and eyes conveying her sorrow more than any words can. Her fork twitches in her grasp and Killian thinks for one wild second that she’s going to try to grab his hand, but she doesn’t and wraps her fingers even more tightly around her fork. He shakes it off and she keeps speaking like nothing ever happened. “You can probably guess how awful it went. I’m not allowed to cook in her kitchen ever again.”

“Well, Mary Margaret is very protective of her kitchen. I don’t blame her.” Killian laughs and Emma takes a big bite of her cake in response. He waits until she swallows to ask, “What do you think of this one?”

“I’m not sure.” She takes another bite, chewing it more slowly to taste every flavor she can. “Too much peanut butter for me, but then again, Mary Margaret is a fanatic so I’ll go with a maybe.”

“It is their wedding,” Killian says gently. “Let’s get to the next cake. I don’t know how much more I can eat.”

“I’m glad I didn’t go to lunch beforehand,” Emma agrees with a groan. “I better not have to chase any stupid criminals after this. I won’t make it half a block.”

“Only one more left!” he cheers.

“And we haven’t even talked about the getaway weekend yet.”

“Funny, I thought we'd run out of things to talk about.” She hums in agreement.

“We can talk to each other, we can joke with each other,” Emma lists, tapping her fork against the plate. “I can’t believe we might actually be friends, Killian.”

“I told you it would happen.”

“Don't be so smug,” she says, “I guess we just had to give each other a chance, huh?”

“Our best friends have brought us together. It's like something out of a movie.” Killian slouches in the chair to give his food baby more space. He grins broadly at her. “I think I won our challenge.”

“Our challenge?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. She stops looking at him briefly to lay her eyes on the final piece of cake—an elaborate chocolate cake with cannoli cream filling.

“That I could be a reasonable civil human being.”

Emma hums, taking a slow, large bite of cake. She eats carefully, and he worries for a second that maybe he's misinterpreted everything, but then he ignores that because he's been nothing but a gentleman.

“We're doing well,” Killian elaborates when she still doesn't speak. “Just look at us.”

“Well, we're definitely not a couple of lovebirds out of a movie,” Emma finally says. “And this cake is delicious. Try it.”

She points to his untouched cake and he blinks. He was too concerned to explain himself that he hadn't even touch it yet. He goes to follow her example, but there’s a scream from the front that makes them both jump. He leans back so he can peek around the wall; there’s a spill on the floor and a young child crying. He puts the pieces together and turns back to Emma. “It’s nothing, just a spill--”

His hand hits the table in just the wrong place, clipping his plate. In what seems like slow motion, his cake and plate go flying, slamming onto the floor with an ugly _splat_. “Oh no, that was the cannoli cake.”

Emma winces across the table and tries to look for their server, but Holly is nowhere in sight. Exchanging looks, the pair knows she’s probably at the front trying to clean up the spill before the shop gets even busier. For a second, it seems like Killian won’t get to try the last piece, but Emma pushes her cake toward him. “We can share. I can’t eat a full piece by myself anyway.”

“Taking pity on me, eh?”

“Everyone loves cannoli cream.” She smiles. “Plus, Mary Margaret and David need your input on what cake to get. I can’t be the only one voting on this cake.”

“Too right.” He takes a small bite to savor the taste and smiles immediately. “This tastes heavenly. I love cannolis.”

“Strong yes?” Emma asks.

He agrees. “Saved the best for last.”

They eat the cake methodically, each taking a piece that’s reasonably small. As they get closer to the end, Killian’s nerves start buzzing: who will eat the last piece? Under any normal circumstance, Killian would offer it to her, he is a gentleman, but this cake is phenomenal.

When they do get to the last, very small bit of cake left, Emma glances from him to the cake and smile. “Who wants it?”

Killian waits a beat, knowing what he must do. “It’s yours.”

“I had the first bite before you lost your cake.”

“And I lost my cake. I forfeit my chance to eat the last bite.”

Emma nods, eventually agreeing, and scoops it up. It hovers near her mouth for a long time before she suddenly offers it to him, her fork hovering in front of his lips.  “Eat up, Killian.”

He doesn’t think, leaning forward, and letting her slide it into his mouth. The flavors alone are enough to make him moan in pleasure, but suddenly the cake testing is much more intimate and heart-stopping then it was ever supposed to be. It takes everything he has to not actually groan out loud.

“That cake is just delicious,” Killian says finally when she’s removed the utensil and has scooted back to her side of the table. The moment passes as both of them try to recover. Emma looks a little out of sorts and it pleases him in a non-platonic kind of way. “I hope they choose that one.”

“The best choice.” Emma nods in agreement, face a bit more pink than it was before. She immediately pushes aside her plate. Clearing her throat and pushing her hair out of her face, she reluctantly meets his eyes. “So, about the weekend...”

They delve into details about the weekend getaway, and their plates are soon replaced by steaming cups of coffee. By the time they’ve worked out the details of the getaway, their coffee cups are empty and they’re read to make their way back to work.

They drag their feet to put on coats, beanies, and scarves. They push their way through the crowd still flooding the bakery’s front and stop before the door. It's begun to lightly snow again, but it's not yet covering the sidewalk and it still looks pretty. With a great sigh, Killian pushes the door open and gestures for Emma to walk out in front of him. She waits for him and they begin the slow walk back to their offices.

Most of New York is returning from their lunch break, and even this far uptown the sidewalks are packed with businessfolk. They stick close together, hoping not to be caught in the tidal wave headed in the opposite direction. There’s no such luck, of course. A group of hurrying businessmen that are paying no attention to the poor pedestrians in their path, slam hard into Emma, nearly pushing her into the busy roadway. Killian reacts quickly, lunging to grab her, to yank her hard back toward him, tugging her to his side so she doesn't fall into the path of a city bus. He has a hand clasped around hers and presses her close to his chest until the group of them pass and the coast is clear. He holds her more tighter than necessary, but she's also clutching him to slow her adrenaline now that the situation is over.

“Are you alright?” Killian asks, not daring to loosen his grip while he has the chance. The city hasn't stopped moving around them, but Killian's broad enough that they have a moment to pause. Emma hesitantly pushes herself away from him, hand slipping slowly from his hold and glances away quickly from his concerned eyes.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” She brushes herself off as they continue walking. Emma chuckles. “I can handle myself though. It's not the first time I've been almost stampeded.”

“I forgot,” he says. “You're the formidable Detective Swan, capable of making all criminals crumble and piss their pants.”

“Only some,” she quips, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “But really: thank you, I didn't even notice them behind me. That's pretty poor detective work.”

“You were occupied,” he answers easily. “All that cake and good company. You're finally letting down your guard around me.”

“I guess so,” she says quietly.

“It's not a bad thing, Swan.”

She scoffs. “It’s been a bad thing my whole life.”

“Give me a shot.” Killian doesn't quite beg, but he has never wanted so desperately for Emma to try. “I can prove you wrong. I won't disappoint you.”

She watches him for a second, a sad smile on her face. “That's what I'm afraid of.” She clears her throat and speeds up her space so they can reach the corner faster. She follows the crowd crossing east.

“You're going the wrong way!” Killian calls.

“I'm not!” she shouts back, turning around to face him. “I forgot something at home. I’m heading there before I go back to work. I'll see you around!”

“Until next time,” he says softly, knowing she can't hear him anyway. He doesn't even register that the crosswalk changes until he's bumped rudely by a few pedestrians. He follows them numbly, mind buzzing with questions and musings. He almost postive Emma is going the wrong way, or taking the long way to avoid him.

It almost hurts worse than their mistletoe kiss.

*****

“Why on Earth did we need to take your tiny yellow bug all the way up to Vermont?”

“You don't drive. I happen to have a car. Take what you have and be grateful we don't have to lug all this stuff up to the resort on a train.”

“It's not my fault I never learned to drive,” Killian protests. He tries to sit up a little straighter and very nearly beams himself on the top of the car. He's not a very large man, but her car is too damn small. “I've had no need to drive.”

“So then you're stuck with me, Jones.” Emma smiles at him obnoxiously, turning the radio up louder and singing along to latest annoying pop ballad.

It's too early to deal with her singing, so Killian turns away from Emma to watch more hills and more cows pass by. They're about halfway there and the drive hasn't been smooth. They left at six AM to make it to the ski resort hours before the rest of the party is showing up. They have buckets of groceries, games, decorations for the house, and decorations for Mary Margaret and David’s suite.

It had been difficult to sneak away and find time to get everything together without Mary Margaret and David knowing, but somehow they had managed. With a little extra help from Leroy, Regina, and Robin, they were packed and on the road for Vermont early.

And now, almost three hours later, Killian is ready for the trip to be over. Thankfully, city traffic hadn't been awful—Swan’s a pretty incredible driver—but once they reached Connecticut, the drive had become miserable. One, he never realized how rural some parts of Connecticut were; two, Swan’s little yellow bug was old fashioned inside and out; and three, Emma would not let him touch the radio. They had been listening to unbearably awful pop songs the entire trip.

He wants to die.

He's tried small talk, whistling, anything to drown out the sound, but it's useless. It's either too early for her to care or she just wants to torture him with pop music and off-key singing.

Despite their blossoming friendship, Killian's betting on the latter.

It's a blessing when they stop at a rest stop near the border of Massachusetts and Vermont and step out to stretch their legs. They snag breakfast sandwiches and more coffee—bland, bitter coffee—and take seats by the window for a quick bite before they have to get back to the road.

Emma's idly flipping through her phone as she munches on her breakfast sandwich, probably checking for messages or notifications from Henry, when Killian pops a question.

“Tell me, Emma, what is with your ungodly obsession with prepubescent pop music?”

She doesn't stop scrolling through her phone, swallows the bite of food and glances at him. “I have a preteen. As much as Henry is obsessed with dinosaurs, Star Wars, and books, he's still practically in love with that girl Lila from that British girl group ‘Tiny Tangle’.” She waits a beat and shrugs. “And I like it.”

“That's what I was looking for.” Killian explodes with laughter and set his bagel on the tabletop before he drops it. “I can't believe it. You - hard-hitting, strong-willed Emma Swan - loves teeny bop music.”

“They're not autonomous,” she says grouchily. “Let me guess, you're a man of classic rock or folk music.”

“I do appreciate some folk,” he says, sipping his coffee and taking another bite. “But I actually prefer alternative rock or jazz when I’m working.”

“See? We all have different tastes,” Emma huffs, crumbling up her napkins and standing up. “I just prefer pop. It makes me feel good.”

“I just meant it was different than expected. What other weird interests do you have? Don't be shy, Emma. Are you a fan of water aerobics or basket weaving?” He follows behind her, tearing off the last bit of bagel. “We can really get to know each other better in this next hour and a half.”

“I'd rather not,” she decides with a shudder. “I'm gonna run to the bathroom. I'll meet you at the car.”

It's abrupt, no doubt, and Killian is a little affronted by her rudeness, but he feels better when they restart their road trip. Emma approaches the car with two fresh coffees.

“Peace offering?” Her sheepish smile is beyond adorable when normally it's like pulling teeth to get her to apologize. She holds out the coffee. Expecting the same gritty black coffee from before, he's pleasantly surprised when he smells cinnamon and vanilla.

“Is this gourmet?” he jokes, taking a sip and reveling in the caffeine.

“I wish,” she laughs. “I think I can sniff out the best coffee anywhere I go. I figured we deserved it.”

“That we do.” He holds out his cup and she reluctantly bumps it for cheers. There’s a shift in the air; she seems calmer than she was before, so he tries again as she starts the car. “So, what are your hobbies, Ms. Swan, beyond cop and mother?”

She rolls her eyes, but actually lowers the radio, giving him a pointed look. She keeps it low for the rest of the trip, just the right volume for them to keep up a steady stream of chatter for most of the trip.

Apparently a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich and a new cup of coffee is just enough to change Emma’s mood. He's keen to remember that.

The rest of the trip is uneventful, and they make it to the resort in record time. Their exclusive cabin is even better than anticipated with more than six bedrooms total (with twin and queen beds included), a grand master suite, huge kitchen, and living area. They put away the food, and set up with less than an hour to spare before the rest of the party shows up.

Mary Margaret and David are speechless when they arrive with Leroy, Ruby, and Elsa in tow. The rest of their friends slowly trickle in, and by dinnertime, they're all drinking, laughing, and partying more than any of them are used to.

Mary Margaret is sticking to cosmopolitans instead of her old favorite tequila sunrise, and David is no longer the Shot King of Manhattan.They’re all able to put back a hefty amount of booze, but none of them can party anymore like their college days. It’s both a relief and a harsh reminder of their old age.At about two in the morning, Killian teeters up the stairs arm in arm with David. He drops him off into a giggling Mary Margaret’s waiting arms and finishes the walk down the hall by himself.

None of them wake before nine the next morning, which is a blessing since most of them normally rise much earlier for work. Killian stumbles into the kitchen on the heels of Ruby and Elsa and is instantly granted a cup of Regina’s actually gourmet coffee and a plateful of Robin’s delicious French toast. They have a plan for the day: a morning to ski or snow tube, a huge lunch, an afternoon to ice skate and a fancy dinner out on the town. It takes a little bit of time for the plan to kick in—they are a little more hungover than expected—but soon enough they’re heading up the mountain for ski lessons.

Those who’ve skied before - David and Mary Margaret among them - head to the intermediate slope as soon as they reach the mountain. Killian sticks to the bunny slope and is pretty proud when he manages to mostly get the hang of it. As a city boy, his time in nature is pretty slim and it’s quite an achievement. He does fall down more than he stays up, and he’s perfectly content to head back to their cabin for a well-deserved lunch break.  

Although lunch is delicious, the thought of ice skating - especially on such a full stomach - is even less exciting than skiing.  

It’s not that he’s never tried it before: it’s just that he’s only ever gotten as far as clinging to the wall. He’s never taken dates ice skating, and he’s not very thrilled to demonstrate how pathetic he is to the entire bridal party. Winter sports are just not his thing; if Mary Margaret and David hadn’t wanted a winter wonderland escape he would have suggested Las Vegas or a beach resort. He could have handled that. Ice skating is just not for him.

For Emma though, she’s perfectly at home on the ice. She ties her skates expertly, steps onto the ice, and starts racing around with Elsa at her side within seconds.

He hates it. Killian gingerly gets to his feet once his skates are laced and follows the crowd to the entrance, wobbling all the way. He hates it before he even reaches the ice.

Killian clutches the railing the second he steps out and basically pulls himself along the way. He’s got a nice shuffle step going and he’s almost proud of himself when he’s nearly bowled over by a four year old in a tutu. She’s laughing and chasing an older girl who’s lazily spinning and skating on one foot. He makes his decisions right then and there to head back to the cabin and never come out. He turns and nearly loses his balance. It’s a miracle he makes it the ten feet back to the entrance without falling.

“Leaving so soon?” He doesn’t hear her approach and tilts dangerously when he hears her voice and jumps. Emma grabs him firmly by his jacket and pushes him to the short wall to clutch with both hands.

“I’m afraid for the children. I’m a menace on skates, love.”

“I doubt that.”

“It’s true,” Killian protests. “I’m awful.”

“You can’t be worse than Henry,” she says reasonably. “Come on, Killian. You’re a big boy.” He finds that he can’t deny her anything when her smile is that wide. He nods and reluctantly lets go of the wall. Emma comes a bit closer and holds out her mitten-covered hand. “I’ll even let you hold my hand.”

He gasps. “Scandalous, Swan.”

She shushes him. “We’re friends now, aren’t we? I’m just helping out a friend.”

Killian raises an eyebrow, but takes her hand soundly, clutching it as they step out from the wall. She tries to move them out further and he resists. “Do we have to go that far out already? I’m going to fall and definitely break something.”

“Really.” At his blank stare, she sighs. Her voice softens and he imagines she uses it when she’s trying to explain something to Henry. “We need more space to get your momentum going. We can’t stay on the wall forever.”

“I’d very much like to.”

“We can’t. That’s not fun at all,” she insists. She squeezes his hand. “Haven’t you ever skated?”

“I mean I have. Just very badly.” He winces. “Liam tried to teach me when I was younger but it didn’t end well and from there I just never went.”

“You’re in luck. I taught Henry and Mary Margaret. I can easily teach you how to skate.” Killian’s skeptical, catching a glimpse of Mary Margaret wrapped around David as they skate, but he’s not quite sure if that’s because she needs the support, or if they’re just that in love.

“Don't worry, Killian. You can do it. We’ve already been sort of skating.” True to her word, they have been. They’ve technically shuffled—not skated—about twenty feet from the entrance. She slides out in front of him and takes both hands in hers.

Killian takes them uneasily, already feeling his feet slide from beneath him. He lurches and Emma grabs him, steadying him with those police muscles she’s got buried under layers of sweater and jacket. He tries to laugh it off. “Maybe I’m just playing you, love. I’m just doing this to make you hold my hands and touch me.  I’ve always known how to skate.”

Emma laughs. “I don’t think even you can pretend to be this bad.”

“I just need to get my  sea legs,” he huffs, struggling to pull away from her. It doesn’t work and he curses under his breath. He’s always been stubborn, but he’s not sure he can win this battle. He would feel more humiliated, but strangely enough, he doesn’t. “I told you children should fear me on the ice.”

“You’re like a baby giraffe learning to walk,” Emma giggles, pulling him forward. “Oh, I need to document this. Henry’s gonna love it.”

“Don’t you dare. I’ve already taken a hit to my pride.”

“Oh, I won’t.” Emma nods to their friends that are scattered around the rink. “But Regina might.” Regina and Robin are skating just a few feet behind them with nearly identical amused expressions. “Or maybe Leroy will do it. It would be a hit around the precinct.” Leroy speeds passed them with more flexibility than Killian ever imagined the stout man might have.

Killian grumbles and tries to get away from her, but she holds tighter. “I’m just kidding. Relax,” she soothes him, “No one is recording you.”

“Maybe not recording, but certainly laughing at me.”

“And maybe they are,” Emma says. “Who cares? You’re learning.”

Killian grumbles some more, clinging to her and taking very small steps. She sighs. “It’s good thing I’m here to help. You’re gonna break an ankle this way. Your technique is awful.”

“I don’t have a technique.”

“Exactly.” She lets go of one hand, coming to his side to demonstrate for him. “The problem is that you’re trying to walk, not skate. Push your feet, Killian. You can’t take your feet off of the ice. You have to glide.”

“Easy for you to say.” Still, Killian shuffles beside her. He tries, he really does, but it’s something he’s never done before and all he can envision are broken bones from his inevitable fall.

In a surprising twist, Emma is a wonderful teacher. She’s patient and thorough, stopping and correcting when he falls back into his hopeless shuffle, and encouraging when he falls not once, but three separate times. Eventually, he starts to get it. Killian listens to her advice, pushing his feet one at a time and gliding in a mostly uneven rhythm. It’s not smooth sailing, and he’s not nearly as graceful as Emma, but he manages.

They skate aimlessly for a while, following the flow of the crowd. They tease Robin and Regina—now that Killian can skate, he actually is a menace—and race Elsa and Ruby around the rink. When they finally catch up with Mary Margaret and David, Emma attempts to drop his hand, but Killian flashes her a smile and tightens his grip as they approach their friends. “I might fall. You can’t let go yet.”

She doesn’t let go, even when the couple shares smug smiles. Mary Margaret is watching them carefully, in that innocent way of hers and Killian can almost feel the stress raising Emma’s blood pressure. Thankfully, neither David nor Mary Margaret comment on their hand holding or her sudden change of heart. It’s refreshing, considering that Killian knows most of the group must be bugging out over their sudden friendship. Killian’s grateful there isn’t too much backlash; he’s still surprised Emma even offered in the first place.

They drift off eventually from the couple, skating separate ways when things get stale. Killian’s starting to get a little bit more bolder, taking more risks now that he’s learned most of the tricks. Emma tries to show him how to skate backwards, but it doesn’t work well. He’s growing bored: little children are able to skate passed at dazzling speeds, perform jumps and twirls, and he can’t even stop correctly. He’s antsy to try something more difficult.

It becomes hard to ignore when a couple weaves in and out of crowd and performs a jump and catch trick to the awe of the other skaters. Emma catches his expression.

“Don’t even think about it.”  

“But Emma—“

“You couldn’t even move off the wall an hour ago. Not a chance,” she interrupts, throwing her arm out to grab him before he can slam into three unsuspecting teenagers. He spins, sliding back over to her with a pout on his face. “There is no way that I’m going to trust my life in your hands.”

“I’m trustworthy. You taught me well.  I’m practically a pro now.” Killian tries to spin, wobbling precariously the whole time. It does nothing to help his case. She snorts in laughter. “Come on, love. Just once.”

She’s still protesting as they move further away from the crowd, but he’s gripping her hand and she’s not pulling away. Emma’s laughing, oblivious to the fact that he’s still going to do it. “Look, Jones. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but let’s try something easier first.”

“We can handle it, Emma. It’ll be simple—”

And that’s when it happens.

Of course, that’s when Killian glides over a particularly choppy piece of the ice. It catches him off guard and as he falls visions of their bloody death surface. He tumbles helplessly into Emma and she falls too.  They crash hard and his breath expels in a painful whoosh as he lands with his back on the ice and she lands on him.

It's not like the movies where she's pressed chest to chest in a delicate fashion. Emma is on top of him, sprawled with her entire body weight on his chest and very sore back. In a strange way, he's thrilled. He can feel her chest heaving from her adrenaline, and he wonders if she can feel his own heart pounding in his chest.

She scrambles to get off of him, trying to shift her total body weight. He stifles a groan and she winces, stopping just in case her movement is making the pain worse. “Are you okay? I told you we couldn't do anything too complicated.”

Killian meets her eyes, basking in the concern. Her weight is warm and welcome, no matter how much he hurts. It's a thrill just to be able to touch her like this.

Emma takes his silence as a problem though. She takes one hand and wraps it around the back of his head, feeling anxiously for blood or lumps. “Killian, say something. Are you alright? Did you hit your head?”

He almost laughs; her mothering touch is overzealous and adorable. She tries to get off of him again, more gingerly this time, but he denies her. Killian wraps an arm around her waist pressing her as close to him as possible. “Normally, I prefer other more enjoyable activities with a woman on top.”

“You are the worst,” Emma groans. “Absolutely disgusting.”

“I'm teasing you.” He tests her, sliding a hand to the small of her back. She doesn't tense or resist.

“Don’t touch me like that,” she mumbles.Her voice is uncertain. “You know better.”

“If you really wanted to move, you could.” He licks his lips. They’re so close to each other he could reach across the minute space right now and kiss her. “But you don’t want to.”

“I do.” But her words are empty and she makes no move to leave her position sprawled on his body.

“Come on, Swan. I just pathetically wiped out in front of everyone. Don’t you want to make me feel better?”

“It wasn't that pathetic.”

“It was. I’m achy and sad now, Emma. You don’t want to move off of me.”

“Killian,” she starts. Her green eyes are shining, wide and dilated, staring into his soul. Something is different. Something is changing. “I want—”

“Killian! Emma!” Both jump at the sound of their names, turning unexpectedly. They had been so absorbed with each other they didn't even realize they were drawing a crowd of curious onlookers and their friends who had witnessed the fall.

David comes to a halt beside their sprawled bodies and his concerned expression turns to something more intrigued. “We saw you fall. I was coming to check you guys out, but if I'm interrupting something.” He catches Killian's eye and raises an eyebrow. “I can just leave you two alone.”

“You're not interrupting anything,” Emma says. She very easily slides out from Killian's grasp then. “I was just making sure he didn't break anything when he fell.”

“You did fall pretty hard,” David says, crouching down beside Killian.

“I'm fine, just banged up.”

“Killian! Are you guys okay? That was such a bad fall.” Mary Margaret slides into their group, stumbling at the last second and gripping Emma for support.

“I'm aware,” he grumbles. “It wasn't on purpose.”

“You cushioned Emma’s fall,” Mary Margaret says. “That was really sweet of you.”

“I tried my best,” Killian gripes. Emma doesn't look at him,focuses on wrapping her arm around Mary Margaret to steady her. They start talking about something and Killian sighs. He throws out a hand and David stands up, gripping it tightly to pull him up. “Let's head back to the cabin. I think I'm going to need to try that hot tub tonight.”

They gingerly get to their feet and follow slowly behind the other pair. Emma doesn't make it obvious, but she glances back to check on him.

He catches her eye every time.

Killian doesn't know David's watching him. His friend squeezes the shoulder he's got wrapped around for support. “You're in deep, Killian.”

Killian groans. He feels more pathetic that David knows just how bad it is than falling so awfully in front of the crowd. “I know.”

The walk to the cabin isn't long, but by the time they get there, Killian’s bruises become very apparent. He's sore all over - particularly his back, chest and tailbone. He heads straight to his room to change and meets David and Mary Margaret in the pool room. He’s a little sad that Emma isn't there as well, but he puts it aside when he sinks into the piping hot water and his troubles vanish.

Not more than five minutes later, the sliding door to the pool room opens and Emma appears in a blissfully tiny black bikini. The room is chilly and she saunters across the floor, nearly leaping into the hot tub. She sits across from him, hair bunched at the top of her head with loose blonde waves dangling out of the sides. She smiles at him across the way, sharing a sip of Mary Margaret’s cocktail before diving into a wedding conversation.

Despite his bruises, Killian’s heart feels light. He catches David's eye, who's watching them closely. David scoots toward him, eyes twinkling as he whispers, “I don't think you're in deep alone anymore, my friend.”

*****

Killian's elation from Emma’s presence only carries him so far. By the time dinner rolls around, the whole group is sluggish from an exciting day of exercise; even Ruby and Will, the usual party animals, are dragging. It doesn't look like the great night out is going to go as planned, but somehow, none of them seem to mind.

It's a good night instead. They stay in, drink more liquor than they should, and play all their old college drinking games. David is still the reigning Flip Cup champion, Leroy is the target of their wrath during F*ck You Pyramid, and Ruby is the only one who remembers all the rules in Kings.

Killian struggles to do his very best. The bruises and his general exhaustion from performing more physical activity than usual impedes his performance, and he and David wind up losing a few too many rounds of beer pong because his aim is quite poor.

Like the night before, the drinking slowly winds down. Killian’s one of the first to head to bed—something that surprises even him—but he's achy and exhausted to his core. He changes into his flannel sleep clothes, downs a glass of water, and flops on his bed. He falls asleep in minutes.

It doesn't last.

It seems like it's only been seconds when he wakes to the sound of women’s loud laughter. He tries to keep his eyes tightly shut - he's warm and sleepy, he could definitely fall back to sleep - but the girls—Ruby and Elsa, he realizes—are loud and very, very drunk.

They're giggling and talking loudly in the adjoining bathroom. Killian can hear every word they say about Elsa’s on-again, off-again girlfriend. He has enough when Ruby starts to give her tips about how to better pleasure her girlfriend.

He buries his head under his pillow, pressing it to his ears. He doesn't wanna think about oral sex or any kind of sex when he’s stuck like a love sick puppy to Emma Swan. His dick aches just thinking about how it would feel pleasuring Emma.

Killian groans. He wants to rut his hips against the mattress, stick his hand down his pants, and rub one out to the vision of his tongue licking her warm, wet clit, but he won’t. He's thought about it before, envisioned how he would perform for her, how exactly he'd throw her legs over her shoulders, kiss every inch of her upper thighs until he reached her groin. How he'd lick her clit in quick, heavy strokes, suck her lower lips, and make her come.

But that was just for quick release. This is different. This is possible now that even David has concluded she's acting different. He wants her more than ever before, but now, especially that she’s not even five feet down the hall, it feels a tiny bit awkward. (He’d much rather have the real thing than a fantasy).It feels perverse to jerk off to the thoughts of pleasuring her (to delete).

(Though the vision of her going down on him is almost just as good. She would sink to her knees, smirk on her pretty, painted red lips, and suck him dry. She would know just how to swirl her tongue around the tip, and exactly how to fondle his balls. In minutes - if he lasted that long - she would leave him breathless.)

Killian throws himself out of bed before he gets any more heated. He tears off his shirt and feels instantly cooler bare chested. His cock is semi-hard, thick and heavy in his briefs, but he tries his best to ignore it, taking a deep, grounding breath.

It's only one thirty; he hadn't even been asleep for forty minutes and now he's wide awake. He's not going to lay in his bed and wait. It never works. He needs something to calm down—maybe a drink. He opens his door just a little, listening for noise. It sounds like Ruby and Elsa have retreated to their shared room, and the rest of the group have probably gone to bed.

Killian's a little disappointed he won't be able to rejoin the party, but he heads downstairs anyway, hoping a nice, cool drink will be enough to will his boner away and put him to bed.

He makes his way to the kitchen, yawning and running fingers through his messy hair. He pads to the fridge, nudging it open and keeping it propped until he figures out if he wants more alcohol or a glass of water.

Killian finally decides on a glass of Leroy’s good whiskey. He's pulling out the bottle and trying to find a clean glass when he spots the shadow. The shadow is definitely female, hair piled on top of her head and leaning against the wide glass window that has a beautiful view of the mountain range. It scares him at first—he thought everyone was asleep—but that quickly subsides when he realizes it's none other than Emma Swan.

He pours a second glass and thinks about saying something, but she doesn't even glance away from the window or make any notice of hearing him.

He sneaks up on her. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Emma jumps a mile, spinning around with wild eyes. She calms down when she sees him, smile blossoming on her face, visibly relieved. “Killian, you scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry, love.” He holds out the glass in apology and she takes it. “You were just so lost in thought. I didn't mean to startle you.”

“It's okay.”

The silence resumes and Killian takes a seat in one of the cozy chairs positioned near the window. Emma’s humming very quietly to herself, clutching the glass and staring out the bay window. He follows Emma's line of sight and takes in the natural beauty. There's not much artificial light and the sky is dark and clear, dotted with bright pinpricks of stars. The moon is a barely visible sliver on the horizon, and the mountains but the stars are bright and gorgeous. He wishes he knew how to find constellations so he could show her.

“I don't wanna be afraid.”

Killian tears his eyes away from the window and turns to Emma. She's facing him, skin nearly translucent in the dark. She's still wearing her clothes from earlier after the hot tub: dark green sweater, skinny jeans and bare feet. She speaks again. “I don't want to be afraid anymore, Killian.”

“Afraid of what, love?”

“Being left alone. Losing everything I am.” She pauses, voice small. “You.”

“Why would you be afraid of me?” He sighs, that old irritation building beneath his skin. “If it's about what happened—”

“No, no, Killian.” She reaches forward, wobbling just a little bit and takes his hand. He's in shock immediately, sputtering gibberish at her. “Killian, that's not what I'm afraid of.” She runs her free hand over her face, breathing out harshly. “I can't believe I'm telling you this.”

“Telling me what?” Killian’s mildly concerned. Emma’s never this open, mouth shut like a steel trap whenever it comes to her feelings and deepest thoughts—unless she’s drunk. “Emma, sweetheart, are you alright? Are you drunk?”

“Drunk?” she echos. “Maybe a little bit to get over...inhibitions.”

“We should stop, then,” he says abruptly, feeling crushed but knowing he’d only feel horribly guilty if he didn’t stop himself now. “I don’t want you to say or do anything you might regret.”

He starts to get up and she stops him by slumping on the arm of his chair. “No, I know I won’t say anything if I’m sober and I’ve been holding this in for too long.”

“Emma, darling, please.”

“I want to. I promise.” She presses one hand to his stubble, running the tips of her fingers across his cheek. It’s soothing. “I've done a lot of thinking over the last few weeks, especially after the cake testing and I've been trying to ignore how I feel about you.”

“I'm just too hard to resist.” He winks at her, giving her hand an extra squeeze to ease some of her tension. She smiles and he feels accomplished.

“Shut up. I'm trying to communicate with you. Mary Margaret just about beat it into my head.”

“She's good at that.”

She glares as he interrupts again, and he mimes zipping his lips. “Anyway, I know I was harsh in the beginning. I expected you not to change and you've surprised me.”

He smiles broadly and she smacks him on his bare shoulder. He clasps her hand to his skin, interlocking their fingers and pulling her towards him. She tumbles into his lap, but she doesn't wiggle out. If anything, she takes a grounding breath and actually makes herself more comfortable in his lap.

“Never in a million years did I ever think I would hear those words come out of your mouth.” Killian laughs. When he woke up he expected to drink alone, and fall back asleep. A tiresome event that been happening more than it should. “I didn't think you could feel the same way about me.”

“I'm trying. The last real relationship I was in ended in heartbreak, pregnancy, and eventually, Neal’s death. I’m not exactly a good candidate for a long term relationship.”

“And you think I am?”

“Nope.” She giggles. “It’s been a really long time for both of us.”

“Then, I guess we’re perfect for each other.”

She stops and stares him right in the eyes. In the dim light, it’s hard to see, but her eyes are dilated, dark pupils lined with silvery green. “I think so.”

His heart clenches. Every time he looks at her he gets chills, butterflies flutter madly in his stomach. If it wasn’t so wonderful, it would be absolutely maddening. He likes her so, so much. “I will wait, Emma, as long as you need.”

“I don't want to wait,” she pouts. She bites her lip in frustration, squeezing her eyes shut. He thinks she's beautiful in the faint moonlight. “I'm sick of waiting. I have needs.”

Flashes of her and Graham getting along swimmingly give him pause. “And I assumed you were taking care of them.”

“We were friends with benefits, but not anymore.”

Killian raises an eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”

“Nope.” She pops then ‘p’ and doesn't elaborate.

“So, what do you want then, Emma? Tell me.”

Killian wants her to say him. He wants to sweep her up in his arms and wreck her senseless every night for the rest of their lives, but his life isn’t a fantasy, so he would just settle for being able to hold her in his arms.  She’s wobbly, drunk, and not thinking clearly. It’s best that nothing happen between them.

...Right?

Emma licks her lips, staring into his eyes. “I want you.”

Killian stands strong. “You’re drunk, Emma. I can’t take advantage of you. We should head to bed.”

Strong hands grip his wrist. “I’m not that drunk. My head’s clear, Killian, and I want you.”

He takes too long. She lunges forward, pressing her mouth to his. It's instinctual to wrap one of his large hands around the back of her head. He draws her closer, deepening the kiss. There's a desperation in her, wet and wild, ravaging his mouth to find what's she's looking for. Kissing Emma is better than he remembered, even better than some of his private fantasies.

Emma tastes like liquor still, like the sweet cocktails Mary Margaret made her drink. She's not gentle, tongue roving immediately, hands clutching him like she needs something to hold onto. He kisses her back with everything he has before slowly breaking away and moving his hands to wrap around her.

In one smooth motion, he stands and lifts her into his arms. She wraps her legs smoothly around him.

Killian doesn't know how they make it to the bedroom without waking up the whole cabin. They stagger, laughing all the way, to Killian room—it's closer than Emma’s—and throw open the door. It bangs against the wall, but they don't notice. He throws her on the bed, stripping his pants in one motion.

Emma reaches for him and laughs. He cups a protective hand around his dick, giving her a harsh look.

“No,” she stops him, tugging his hand away. “I forgot that you would be uncircumcised.” He tries to pull her hand away from her, pride bruised—most of his other conquests are excited that he's a foreigner—and intends to get her to focus on something else.

She stops him, eyes wide and lips painted in a yearning smirk. “I like it.”

Emma pounces on him, hand reaching for his cock with the same determination that leads her on a regular basis. The first touch is almost too much; the way she holds his cock in her hand, loose as she travels but firm around the base. Killian can't take it. He pulls away, climbing on top of her. He helps her yank off her sweatshirt and pins her hands above her head so he can drag his body along hers without her interrupting.

She does anyway, planting her lips, those fucking lips, on his neck. She drags them across his scruff, hot breath trailing over his neck as she nips, kisses, and bites.

He's never wanted her so bad. Kissing and dry humping isn't possibly enough to satisfy him. He brushes his hand against the band of her pajama pants and waits until they pull apart for a second to ask, “May I?”

Emma pulls away from him just long enough to scramble to unbutton her pants. Creamy, pale skin appears and within seconds she’s naked, laid out on the bed. She's beautiful, of course - every human body is - but Emma’s lithe figure sends shivers right down his spine. She's muscular and lean with just a little belly left from her pregnancy with Henry.

He loves it, and doesn't resist the urge to touch or kiss every inch of her. Killian can feel the strength beneath her skin, the tight knitted muscle of her arms and thighs. He wonders wildly for a second how much she works out, if he could watch her, and if he could drag her into bed and fuck her senseless afterwards.

He's nearly salivating.  

She's shaking beneath his lips, spreading her legs and reaching her own hand between them. He’s entranced by the way she touches herself, follows along until he pushes her hand away and digs in himself.

Emma’s squirming in seconds and he switches his fingers for his tongue. She's slick and wet as he tongues her, swirling and licking everywhere he can reach. Emma whines, eyes fluttering. She whispers instructions as he gets her closer. Emma hasn’t even touched him and he's hard as a rock.

When she comes, twitching and panting, he nearly does too. He's thankful that he's able to hold off, but it's a very close call, when one of his dreams is laying in front of him limp and satisfied.

Emma returns the favor, wrapping a firm hand around his dick when he slides beside her on his queen bed. The sensation rocks him, makes him suck in his breath and try to focus on anything else. She swirls her hand just right, tightening around the base and sliding her hand up to the tip.

She follows his lead, replacing her hand with her mouth. Emma licks, sucks, and swirls her tongue in all the right ways.

It only takes bare minutes before he throws her off of him and jumps off the bed, digging through his duffel. Emma leans up on his pillows, long legs spread while she waits. Triumphantly, he finds a condom and turns back to her. Wrapping his own hand around his slick cock, he rolls it on and jumps back in bed.

The sex itself doesn't last very long. They rock, moan, and thrust together, eyes locked and lips pressed together. They roll around in the bed, switching to their favorite positions, and the intensity is incredible, maybe even beyond what he's ever felt. She's dripping wet, even with the condom, and when she starts moaning, loudly crescendoing as he thrusts, he's done for.

She slides off of him, and he cleans himself up while she redresses. They don't speak and Killian tries not to feel awkward with his small, flaccid dick hanging out.

“Stay the night?” he asks.

She stops mid-tugging up her pants and turns to him, biting her lip to hide a smile. She doesn't answer right away. “Not gonna kick me out?”

“Definitely not.”

He pulls his briefs back on, sliding into one side of the bed. He waits until she kicks off her pants and tosses her clothes onto the small wooden chair by the dresser to turn off the dim light by the bed. She flops into the bed beside him.

Killian turns on his side, facing her. “Alright, Swan?”

“Yeah, I’m alright.” She scoots closer to him, back to his chest. He presses close, intertwining a leg and wrapping an arm around her stomach. He thinks about reaching up to clutch her breast, but he thinks that might be a little too much. Killian pauses, purposely twitching his dick—her butt is pressed against him—and thinks, a hand on her breast is nothing.

He does just that and settles comfortably in his pillows. He and Emma lapse into the silence.

It's almost two-thirty in the morning and he's awake trying to process. Killian's stomach is still full of butterflies, heart giving him palpitations because Emma is laying in bed beside him.

He's had probably hundreds of one night stands, all of which have ended with either him leaving or her kicking him out of bed. Killian's struck with wonder. They can sleep together all night.

Of course they'll need to talk in the morning, but for now everything is wonderful.

Despite her trust issues, Emma has no problem sleeping. Killian had wondered if she would be tentative, or if she'd make excuses and head back to her room, but Emma surprises him. She passes out within a few minutes and later, when Killian is daydreaming about their first vacation together, she snorts in her sleep and rolls out of his arms. She nudges him out of the way with her legs and spreads across the bed.

He's strangely endeared by her, and it takes a minute for him to shake himself out of the urge to push her blonde hair out of her face and maybe stroke the soft skin of her cheek. Killian doesn't want to wake her though - none of them have slept enough lately - and instead follows her lead: flops on his belly, and clears his mind.

For the first time in months, Killian falls asleep easily and worry-free.

*****

_“Oh, Killian, I just can’t imagine our lives any different.”_

_She’s wearing what looks like an old Southern bell dress, tight white corset leading to a billowing cornflower blue and white skirt. She can barely fit in the chair opposite him. Perched on her head, hiding half of her blonde curls and shadowing her face, is a large, wide-rimmed sunhat._

_“My dearest, do not cry.” He speaks in a nearly identical Southern accent. It doesn’t seem odd at first, but then as he continues, it sounds worse to his ears. He leans forward, pushing aside his teacup and a plate of biscuits so he can grasp her gloved hands._

_“I will always love you, but I can’t stay.”_

_“Killian.” It’s not Emma’s voice that says his name and he jerks his head toward the doorway of the parlor. David is standing, hands behind his back dressed sharply in a tuxedo. “Killian.”_

“Killian!”

He startles awake. There’s a large lump by his leg, tapping him incessantly and although he wants to turn away, there’s another lump on his other side. He groans. He knows the voice now. “David, when did you adopt such a large, annoying cat?”

“Hey! I am not a cat!” Mary Margaret pokes him hard in the stomach and he turns back around, swatting her. “It’s almost eleven. We have a long day ahead of us and no one is up yet. You were just the first stop. We’re heading to the spa soon.”

“Right, right.” He buries his head back under his pillow and ignores Mary Margaret’s heavy sigh. David says something, but Killian doesn’t hear it, pressing his cheek into the mattress and trying his best to recall his dream. It was a weird one he remembered that much. Leroy was in it—dressed as a old timey criminal but he didn’t know why, David was there in his wedding attire, and Emma was there in a huge dress and she—

Emma.

_Emma._

His heart is pounding in his chest. How could he forget about Emma sleeping in his bed, resting her head on his pillow, tucking her cold feet between his? The last bit of his sleepiness is drained out of him and panic sets in. Where is Emma? He can’t smell her perfume. He reaches over and the sheets beside him are cool. He knows that she isn’t beside him or Mary Margaret would have cried in joy, but he is still filled with panic.

There’s an easy explanation, he knows that. Emma’s room is right down the hall. She must have woken early in the morning, and crept back to her room to sleep without bothering him.

Swallowing hard, he slowly turns over without opening his eyes. He knows Mary Margaret is gone, the lump at his one side is gone. David, however, is still sitting beside him. “Rough night? You look like you didn’t sleep at all.”

“That fall, mate. I messed up my back pretty bad and I had a hard time sleeping.” He sits up and accepts the hot cup of coffee David or Mary Margaret had placed on his nightstand when he was buried in his pillows.

“Ahh, you should have taken something,” David says mildly. His eyes are narrowed, watching Killian carefully. “But I don’t think that’s it, huh?” When Killian doesn’t answer, he chuckles. “I knew it. So who was it?”

Killian nearly chokes on his coffee. As he coughs, he thinks about denying it, but there’s no one in the world that knows him better than David. He puts the coffee down and turns to his best friend. “Emma.”

David starts. “No, really, Killian, honestly. I was your roommate. I’ve seen you the morning after more times than any woman. Don't joke like that.”

Killian smirks. To be honest, he doesn’t know quite how it happened himself, but he’s always been a risk-taker and he helped Emma take a risk last night. It was a good decision and he doesn’t regret it one bit. “I’m not lying, Dave. I was with Emma.” David is stunned and doesn’t speak. “Things are different. You saw it yourself.”

“She is acting different,” David muses. He takes a sip of his own coffee, musing on the thought.

“I can’t believe it, mate,” Killian says, softly.  “David, you know how I’ve felt about her and it happened. We spent the night together. She slept beside me. She confessed that she had feelings about me too.” Killian runs his fingers through his already messy hair, heaving a great sigh. “It feels like a dream.”

It feels good that something wonderful for him has come out of these last few months. He can’t believe that his brother has been dead for less than six months and all of the awfulness—the despair and pain of losing his only living blood relative—feels less overwhelming, less painful with the knowledge that there are good things coming to him. And Emma Swan is one of them.

“I can’t believe it, mate.”

David clears his throat. “Me neither. Killian.”

Killian can’t believe it. All of the worries he had last night seem far away. When he meets up with Emma for breakfast before hitting the spa, they’ll talk it out. He’s not worried about what will come. He’s charmed her once: there’s not doubt that he can sweep her off her feet.

He puts his mug on the nightstand, throwing off his covers and stretching. He bounds to the windows with a new pep in his step and throws open the curtains. It’s a grey, dreary, cold February day, but it doesn’t matter to Killian.  “Maybe things are turning around, David. Isn’t it a great day, Dave?”

David isn't look at him though, staring instead into the depths of his dark, nearly black coffee. Just as Killian had knew that day that something wonderful had happened (their engagement), he knew today that something absolutely miserable had happened.

There's a pit in his stomach when he asks, “David? Why isn't it going to be a good day?”

David doesn't answer right away, scrunching his face and scratching the back of his head. “Emma left.”

“What?”

David explains. Something about needing to get Henry to a play date, or needing to catch up with work, but all of it goes in one ear and out the other. Killian hears nothing but pitiful excuses.

“She left?”

He must have interrupted David. His friend trails off, a tired, worried expression on his face. He looks much older than barely thirty. He takes a deep breath and tries again. “This morning before anyone was up. She left me and Mary Margaret a note. We just thought something came up. You know how it is.”

“Yeah.” He nods agreeably. Killian's been on the receiving end of Mary Margaret’s complaints and worries when David forgivably had to leave her during a dinner for police business. He sits down unsteadily at the end of the bed. “Why weren't you or Leroy called away too?”

David can't meet his eyes. “I don't know.”

Killian can practically hear David connecting the dots for Emma’s departure, and he can't deny it hurts. He feels emasculated and stupid now; he thought they shared a moment. He thought that it meant something to her.  

“Fuck.” Killian feels run through, empty and torn apart. He had thought about it before that Emma wouldn't be able to handle it, that she would dump and run like he's done so many times before, but he didn't think it would happen, especially after last night.

“I don't think you should worry about it yet,” David assures him. He clasps a heavy hand on Killian’s shoulder, in an effort to be comforting. “We don't know what happened. Maybe our boss needed her to finish up paperwork or Henry needed her. We can't know.”

“Right as always, Dave,” Killian says with a glint of anger. He doesn't believe it, but it's the best he can offer. He knows, deep down what this whole situation means. “And if it is about me? That she—”

The unspoken _doesn't want me_ hangs in the air and David promptly ignores it. “Then we will figure it out. Give it some time, my friend. If it is about you, then we’ll handle it.”

_Handle it_ , like Emma's rejection is just another problem. Killian takes a deep breath, squashing the achy hurt and allowing his always available anger to rise. “I don't want to give her time to figure it out,”he seethes. “I want to know now.”

“Unless you plan on leaving a bunch of angry voicemails that she won’t answer—because of actual paperwork or because she’s avoiding you—you're not going to get too far,” David says matter of factly. “Give it some time. Get dressed. Have a massage and try to relax. When we get home, we'll deal with it.”

“Fine,” Killian huffs, throwing his hands in the air.

“Come on. We’ll meet in the kitchen in a few,” David says. He gets to his feet, collecting their dirtied coffee cups as he goes. Killian notices that even David is still in his flannel pajamas. David starts backing out of the room, but stops and smirks at Killian. “Just think: you’ll be half-naked and getting a massage by a beautiful woman.”

He tries to smile as he dresses and packs up his things—they’re leaving the resort right after to head home, but he can’t quite muster any enthusiasm. Killian is sure that Emma left because of him. He tries to text her, just a casual _hey_ but he gets no response back. Despite David’s warning, he tries to call her too. It goes unanswered. He had thought that they would have a talk that they would have some kind of grown up discussion and figure out what they were.

He’s not in an especially good mood when he meets the others. Everyone is curious about Emma, and his sour mood is indicative of something gone wrong. Most of the group, once they get handle of his mood—and after Mary Margaret shares that Emma had to leave early—steer clear of him. Robin tries to make him laugh, but when it ultimately fails, claps him on the shoulder and leaves him to stew on his own.

His massage is not at all relaxing, and when he heads back to the city, stuffed in David’s tiny sedan instead of Emma’s yellow bug, his mood only gets worse.

 

 


	4. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end. I've received a lot of questions if there was going to be a chapter from Emma's POV, and the answer is no….there might be a remix however. Definitely not of the whole story, but certainly bits and pieces from her perspective. I've already been toying with a possible epilogue and now I would love to write the remix as well. I ran out of time to add it to my Big Bang, and I'm literally already falling behind and I'm only one week into PA school, so it won't be for at least a few weeks, but I will add them to this when I'm ready! Keep your eyes peeled folks, I'll need some stress relief!
> 
> The title comes from Colbie Caillat's Brighter than the Sun. As always, the art is by the incredible swankkat on tumblr!
> 
> Warnings: language, implications of depression/anxiety, sexually explicit content

 

**PART FOUR**

The next few days pass with little incident. Emma doesn't return his calls, nor does she respond to his texts, not even a half-assed apology passed through their friends and Killian _knows_ that they've spoken to her. He tries to let it roll off his back—it obviously doesn't bother him, Swan can make whatever choice she wants—and immerses himself in his projects, but it doesn't work. His enthusiasm lasts about three days.

Killian will admit that it actually hurts him a lot more than he ever thought a one night stand could. But, he then reasons, Emma Swan was never just a one night stand for him. He's cultivated their relationship from the very start; he was always attracted to her and the new intellectual connection only made the prize sweeter.

And somehow, he ruined it.

Maybe it's a little dramatic, but considering he hasn't spoken to her since the incident, he's pretty sure it speaks for itself. A lot of his one night stands, even if he explicitly tells them it's a one time thing, will still come back to him for more.

He should have waited.

She said she wasn't ready for more, but he wanted to make something of it. He wanted to pleasure her and hold her through the night. He should have known better. He wasn't really ready for it either, he just needed someone to fill in the gap. That's all. They both should have known better. He's tried apologizing to her; one night he drank a large amount of leftover booze, got spectacularly drunk, and left her a rambling voicemail. She answered him the next morning, with nothing more than a quick text: _Please stop_.

At 6:53 AM, in the middle of buttoning his shirt, he paused. He threw his phone on his bed, not caring at all if he shattered the screen when it tumbled off onto the hardwood floor, and stormed into the kitchen. In a fit of rage, he crumpled up his recipe cards and threw them one by one into the trash can.

She didn't need his breakfast treats anymore. She didn't want them. He wondered if she ever wanted him. In that moment, his memories of the cake tasting and their time at the ski resort developed a sour tinge. He decides, then and there, that maybe he should listen to her. Maybe it's not good for either one of them.

So, he listens to her.

He stops.

* * *

 

"Killian. Earth to Killian."

He stops spinning his fork around a wad of spaghetti and looks up. Mary Margaret is watching him from across the table with her patented concerned expression; he's been at the receiving end of it way too often lately.

"I'm here. I just don't have much to say," he answers drily. Mary Margaret and David share a look—that damn couple's telepathy. He stabs a meatball. He had stopped by their apartment for a late night bite to eat, and he almost regrets it. They've been cautious and gentle with him, acting as if Emma died. He tried to play it cool, while dinner cooked, but within minutes their gentleness turned his mood foul.

Mary Margaret's face falls, but she doesn't say anything, hand gripping her fork. David drops his, grimacing hard. "Killian, about Emma. We can't—"

"I know," he interrupts. "She's your friend too. You can't betray her confidence. Blah blah blah."

"I wasn't going to say that at all," David says, with a sad smile. "I'm sorry. I wish things had been different."

"Emma has been hurt a lot."

"It doesn't excuse her behavior," Killian scoffs.

David strongly agrees. "It doesn't, but it changes how she sees the world. I think you might have opened her eyes to other possibilities."

"And I think it scared her." Mary Margaret gives him a look. He can't quite decode it, but he hopes it something like _sorry we gave you hope when there wasn't any_.

It doesn't. Mary Margaret reaches around the table and grabs Killian's free hand. "She's stubborn, but you're more stubborn, I know that. You've overcome every challenge you've faced."

"We think..." David swallows and locks eyes with his fiancé. She nods encouragingly. "We think that you shouldn't give up on Emma just yet."

Killian laughs. He's thankful he didn't take a big bite of food because he has trouble stopping his laughter. "She had her chance, mate. We literally had sex, great magnificent sex." Mary Margaret blanches, but doesn't stop him. He gets the feeling she's either forced the story out of Emma or guessed what had happened. "And she ran away from me."

"All the more reason to fight for her." David tries to be encouraging but it falls short. "She needs someone who is willing to fight for her. And you, Killian, you're just the stubborn, loving man she needs."

Killian can't help but scoff again. He isn't the great man they think he is—he never has been. He's never been good enough for anyone. He feels hollowed out. For some time, he thought he could be something with Emma. He never pictured a white picket fence house, two kids and a dog, but he had once imagined—in the dark, loneliness of his bedroom—that maybe one day they could have shared a cramped Brooklyn loft, eating Mexican takeout and watching movies all day with Henry between them. "I can't."

"You can," Mary Margaret says with conviction. Her eyes are sparkling. "I know Emma and I know you, Killian. There's a reason I always thought the two of you were good for each other."

"Just think about it," David adds hurriedly, casting a dismayed expression at his fiancée who only shrugs helplessly.

"I've already thought about it," Killian answers. He pushes his dish away from him, feeling nauseous. He knows he can't do it again, but—

There's a little kernel of hope burning in him. Something he didn't think he'd feel for her ever again. David nods in understanding, but Mary Margaret is eying him knowingly. He doesn't know if it's just her everlasting optimism or her hopeless romantic nature, but he thinks that she knows he's already wavering. Killian swallows hard against the lump is his throat. "I can't do it."

"It's alright." David claps him on the shoulder and gets to his feet. He takes Killian's mostly full plate and places it on top of his and Mary Margaret's empty ones. He leaves them alone, and starts the clean up process. Killian tries to busy himself, but Mary Margaret takes no prisoners. She turns to him with a sweet, innocent smile on her face.

"No," Killian says before she can say anything. She purses her lips watching him in dismay.

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"Yes, you were."

Mary Margaret scoffs. "Fine, but it's for your own good. You and Emma are perfect for each other. Please try again. She has so many walls, Killian, and you have been one of the only men to break through far enough to touch her heart." She bites her lip, and in that second, he can see that she's torn as well. She really does think it's best way to help them.

"I know you have a lot of baggage yourself, but you already know that to overcome it, you need another person. Emma's still learning that." She sips her wine and smiles at him. "I've known for years, Killian, that the two of you were good for each other. You would balance well. Every couple needs to complement each other."

"The answer is still no."

"And there's that stubbornness." Mary Margaret smiles and gets to her feet too. She looks tired and Killian remembers it's a weeknight, nearing eight o'clock. He interrupted their dinner and their early to bed routine.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I tried. I don't think I want to do it anymore."

She starts to gathers up the utensils and the sauce container. "She loved your muffins, you know, especially those cinnamon roll ones."

He groans, but also gets to his feet. "Stop it. I never want to learn another thing about Emma Swan."

"Liar." Mary Margaret grins. "Don't let her fool you, she does like flowers, but only certain ones. Peonies are her favorite."

"Peonies?" Killian echoes. He's well versed in colors and gemstones, but in terms of flowers, he's at a loss. If there had been girls he was seducing, tulips and red roses were his go to flower.

"Peonies," Mary Margaret repeats. "And _Princess Bride_ is one of her favorite movies and she has a soft spot for kittens. She's always wanted a cat." She disappears for a second to drop off the dishes and comes back with tupperware containers. "You don't need big romantic gestures to change her mind. You just need to show her you're willing to stand your ground and fight for her."

"But it's Emma." He wrinkles his nose, trying to push aside this image of Emma as a gentle little flower in need of a man. He knows it's wrong (on so many levels), because the only Emma he's ever known is strong, resilient, and independent. He forgets that even someone like Emma can be weak sometimes.

"Emma is not easy to understand until you know her inside and out." Once she fills up the tupperware containers, she snaps the top into place and passes one to him. "To tide you over until you stop by next time."

"I can cook," he pouts and Mary Margaret laughs.

"You can bake, Killian. There's a very big difference."

"You just want me out of your hair so you can have David all to yourself."

"He is my fiance." She sits down in David's seat, so she can grab Killian's hand. She smiles, giddy. "We have date night tomorrow. I'm taking him to this new Thai place and then we're going to see an off Broadway show." She squeezes his hand. "I'm so excited. He's going to love it."

Killian's chest tightens, heart clenching in his chest. He wants that. It's been a long time since he's been suitably happy with only his own company or a one night stand. He needs more. He wants to have a special date night and to do stupid things to make his significant other happy. He doesn't want to be alone anymore. He's very happy that his best friends are happy, but he's also very, pathetically jealous.

He wants Emma.

He's going to break his own rules.

"I know what you're thinking," Mary Margaret says softly. "Just try. It'll be worth it."

Killian knows what will happen. He knows that no matter what he says right now, he's going to wind up trying again. He wants Emma; he's going to fight for Emma. It'll be hard, but he is more than willing to try.

Killian leaves that night with more to think about than he started. David is unsurprised when he returns to the table with tea that Killian has changed his mind so fast, but swears up and down that he will gently prod Emma toward him in whatever way he can. Killian heads home with a little more pep in his step, arms ladened with tupperware containers and head spinning with plans.

He's going to win Emma's heart.

* * *

 

It's more of an accident really when Killian winds up getting Emma a tiny kitten.

He had been doing pretty well. He delivered breakfast so often to the police precinct that Claire just waved him back without checking, and he sent bouquets of tulips or peonies once a week to Emma's apartment. Nothing had been sent back unopened and Emma and Henry even returned to have dinner at Mary Margaret and David's around the middle of March.

So, really, he didn't mean to get her the cat.

It was a spontaneous.

One of his managers' cat had kittens and there were too many to take care of, so she had brought the lot of them (all seven) in to see if she could interest anyone.

Killian hadn't been interested at first. They had been small and loud, mewling for attention and milk, and Killian had taken one look and shut the door to his office. He wasn't a cat person.

Around lunchtime, however, he did stop on his way out the door to peer into the box. Only four of them remained and they were tiny. He hadn't really gotten a good look before, but now he could see that they were fuzzy and very young. They couldn't be more than two months old. Two were black, one was black and white, and the last was all gray with splotches of black.

He meant to walk away. They smelled and were still whining, but for some reason the smallest kitten—the gray one—would not stop staring at him with tiny piercing blue eyes.

"What are you looking at?" He glanced around him, made sure no one was watching him, and reached ever so slowly into the box to stroke her fur. The little kitten leaned into his pet, rubbing against his fingertips. "You're a little sweetheart, aren't you?"

He trailed his fingers down her lush, soft fur, and she spun around with playful energy to bat at his fingers. He wiggles them, tapping them away from her and she chases his fingers, nibbling at his tips with her gummy jaws. None of the other kittens pay any attention, but she's a ball of energy. He pets her again when she calms down and she settles, a deep rumbling in her chest.

Killian falls a little bit in love.

He tries not to spend his entire lunch break with her, and it takes monumental force to tear himself away from her and head to his favorite cafe. He's puzzling what to do - he's never ever thought about getting a pet, though now that he thinks about it a kitten would certainly fill the void - and it's a lot to process. He doesn't even know if he wants to take care of a pet. He just knows that she's sweet and he wants to play with her more.

He orders his Reuben, steps aside, thinks long and hard about what to do, and that's when it happens.

He has a brilliant idea.

Emma like cats. Little black cats especially, he remembers that. What if…

He's much more excited when he receives his Reuben than he's ever been before. He dumps his sandwich at his office and corners Lily, who's taking care of the kittens.

"You're interested in my kitten?" Lily squeaks in surprise. "I thought you hated cats."

"She's not for me," he says, but he reaches into the box anyway and rubs the top of the gray kitten's head. "She's for a friend who I think would really do well with a cat."

She raises her eyebrows. He is holding the cat in his arms, cooing at it, but she nods anyway. "Sparky is sweet. She's a little fiery, but very loving."

"Sparky," Killian murmurs. The kitten pushes her nose into his forearm. He can almost feel the connection forming between them. He'll be spending quite a lot of time with Emma if it means he can cuddle with Sparky. "I'll take her."

Killian leaves work early to head to the pet store. He spends far too much time picking out a carrier, a tiny purple collar, and a soft gray blanket. He splurges a little when he's waiting in line and buys her a wiggly mouse cat toy. He wanted to get her an awesome scratching post, too, but it was a little too much—Swan would have definitely killed him.

(He ignores the fact that getting her a cat is definitely too much.)

The next day, he delivers her to Swan's door. He wait until he knows Emma and Henry are home, coaxes Sparky into her carrier, arranges the cat and her supplies, pressed their bell and books it around the corner before they see him.

As expected, she's fucking livid.

She finds the note and the sweet baby inside the carrier; she waits no more than a few minutes before she calls Killian, barking demands and explanations.

"She's yours, Swan. I thought you needed some love in your life."

"I have a ten year old son!" she seethes. "I don't need any more."

"I will take her back if you really want me too," Killian sighs, lying through his teeth. "But I want you to give her a chance. Her name is Sparky."

"She is not a Sparky!" Emma interrupts. "Her coat is gray. She is not a Sparky."

Killian thinks she looks and acts exactly like a Sparky. "She's not, is she?"

She must realize she sounds a little too intense because she scales it back. "I do not want a cat!"

"Just take one second, Swan. Take her out of her cage and hold her in your arms," he instructs. "She's only a baby. She needs some love."

"I don't want a cat!" Emma shouts. "I'm giving her back to you."

"She needs a good home, love," Killian argues.

"She can have a good home with you. I'm sure you have some room in that bachelor pad."

"I have no space, thank you very much. I'm a mess." It's a lie. His apartment is spotless, thanks to his father's rigid military upbringing of his children. "She'll just have to stay with you."

"Killian."

"Just try, Emma," he begs.

She sighs, but he can hear rustling in the background. Henry's speaking to her in a voice too low to understand. He can picture it though: the two of them crowded around the cage, gingerly offering their hands so little Sparky can sniff out if they're good for her or not. He has no doubts that they're going to love her.

There's a long while before Emma answers, sounding ruffled but pleased. "We're keeping her."

"I knew it!" He laughs. "I knew Sparky would get to you."

"That's not her name," Emma huffs. "We're coming up with something better."

"I think Sparky fits her well," Killian says snootily. He waits a second. "You do realize I will be visiting her, right?"

She doesn't answer right away. "Yeah, I know."

"Is that a problem?" There's meowing and Henry giggling in the background. Killian smiles. If nothing else, at least Henry has a new friend.

Emma finally answers, "It's not. We would like that." She doesn't give him a chance to boast, ask any questions, or bother her. "I have to get her settled. I'll see you at the rehearsal dinner."

"Goodnight, Emma."

"Night, Killian."

She hangs up and the conversation ends much better than Killian ever anticipated. He congratulates himself.

Progress.

* * *

 

The two weeks before the wedding pass in a haze. Killian closes his shop the day two days before the wedding to make sure he has enough time to run around and fill all of Mary Margaret's increasingly more harried demands.

Killian meets with the bakery once more before the special day. The cake—a strawberry shortcake with sweet buttercream frosting and edible fondant flowers—is gorgeous. He has a detailed description from Mary Margaret of what the cake needs to to look like. It's so well thought out and different than what either he or Emma picked that Killian briefly wonders if that was a set up.

He decides that it definitely was.

The bakery is only one stop: Killian winds up attending Mary Margaret's last dress fitting with Regina, and nearly starts tearing up alongside the girls when she appears fully dressed and done up for her big day.

He knows it's gonna be bad when everyone sees her for real.

 

The rehearsal dinner is average at best. Mary Margaret is tense, worried about the weather and jittery already with nerves, while David tries his best to be supportive without letting his own worries get to him. Killian tries his best to be there for both of them, but Emma is the one to really keep them calm and on track. When all's said and done, papers are signed, rehearsal is complete, and they're all relaxing after the rehearsal dinner, Emma lets Killian buy her a drink at the bar.

"Cheers," he says, holding up his drink. She clinks his and they down the shots with gusto.

"Phew," she huffs, wiping her mouth and setting the glass upside down on the bar. "We did it, Killian. By tomorrow night, our job will be done."

"They grow up so fast." He mocks wiping a tear. "I remember when Dave was just a little babe, teasing Mary Margaret and practicing his shy declarations of love."

"You and I remember that very differently." Emma raises her eyebrows and taps the bar for another drink. "I remember David accusing Mary Margaret of stealing from him."

"That was very early on," Killian amends. She passes him a drink and he nods in thanks. "Thanks. I need this."

"If we survive tomorrow, I'll buy you any drink you want."

Killian laughs. "It's an open bar, love."

"Exactly." She smirks, tipping back her drink. "Can't get too drunk now, or I'll want to have sex with you again." He winces badly, heart sinking and her smile fades. "Sorry, too soon to joke about it."

"Much too soon," Killian snorts, downing his drink.

"I swear, you were great, Killian."

"Words don't mean much, darling, when you ran away from me in the middle of the night."

She cringes. "I just couldn't stay."

"So, they don't hurt you first, eh?" Killian watches as her face pinches. He's got her number. "Take notes from the master, darling. It doesn't work. Running doesn't do anything but make it worse."

"It feels better though."

"Not in the long run. You just wind up alone and miserable at thirty."

"Even with all your girls?"

"They meant nothing to me," Killian confesses. "You, on the other hand, Emma, mean a lot to me. Somehow, you crawled under my skin and I can't get rid of you."

"I do tend to do that."

"And do it well." Killian orders another drink. "I'm trying, Emma. All I need you to do is be open to trying with me."

"I can't do this, Killian." She sighs, looking jittery and uncomfortable. He think she's looking for an escape.

"Yes, you can, love. Come on, stop hiding from what you want."

"I'm not hiding. I'm not running." Emma steps away from the bar. "I just need time." She brushes her hair off of her face, looking flustered. "I need to go, Killian."

She tries to bolt from him, but he grabs her by the arm. "You can't keep doing this to me, Emma." She whirls around, face pinched and eyes sad. "You can't keep leading me on."

"Leading you on?"

"Yes. One day you want me, the next you don't. You flirt with me nonstop, but turn to ice when it gets too personal." He swallows hard. "You have sex with me, and leave without a word."

She doesn't answer and he ploughs on. "You need to pick what you want." He slides his hand down her arm to grip her hand tightly. "Please, put me out of my misery."

"I want you," Emma says immediately. "I just need to figure it out." She looks smaller than ever before. "I'm not being fair to you."

"No, you're not, but I understand." He interlocks their fingers. "I can wait however long you need."

"I can't do this right now. The wedding is tomorrow: there are more important things going on." She beelines away from him, gathering her coat and joining the others as they say goodbye. He watches her go, hand wrapped around his glass of Jack.

When David approaches him, eyes worried, Killian shakes him off. There's a party to be had- David is getting married the next day. The boys that are staying to wish David well gather around, cheering, talking, singing. Killian buys rounds for the men and finally, when he's pumped full of booze, the sting of Emma is almost gone.

* * *

 

The day of the wedding, it rains.

It's not a gentle drizzle, but a heavy downpour. There's flash flooding in the outer boroughs, strong winds, and even some hail. If David is worried, Mary Margaret is a wreck. Although their ceremony and reception are both indoors, Mary Margaret's worry about the state of her hair, wedding dress, and professional photos is almost overpowering. At her worst, she even threatens to call off the wedding if they can't figure out a way to make it perfect.

Her pure panic is, of course, reasonable. Killian doesn't exactly understand it, but Ruby and Elsa explain it to him in hushed voices while the other girls try to reason with her. He had been called in as a completely different voice of reason when even Regina's cool logic couldn't get through her panic.

Killian couldn't get through to her either, mostly because he had no idea how to respond. Regina had pushed him aside, toting him as useless, and pulled Mary Margaret into the hotel bathroom to try to clean up her makeup.

Killian sticks around for a few minutes, chatting with Ruby as she does her own makeup, under the guise of hanging around in case Mary Margaret needs him. It's not the true reason though, and Ruby calls him out on it immediately.

"She's not here," Ruby sing songs. She purses her lips in the mirror, applying a thick layer of pink lipstick. She glances at him through her thick eyelashes. "She left when it really started to pour. I don't blame her, I wish I had thought to leave."

"Who?"

She rolls her eyes, stretching her mouth in a wide 'O' to reach the corners. "You're transparent, Killian. Who do you think I could possibly mean?"

"Not a clue," he feigns poorly. It's embarrassing how nearly everyone knows that there was something between them.

"Your little crush. My dear friend Emma." Ruby laughs when even she catches sight of his blush in the mirror. She spins around. "Don't be embarrassed. It's completely understandable to be a little bit in love with Emma. If she wasn't straight, I would be on top of her."

He sputters, unsure what to say. He starts with the problem least concerning him. "I thought you were straight!"

"Bisexual," she corrects. "Boys and girls are pretty, blah blah blah." He stares at her open-mouthed, popping his jaw shut when he realizes he's being rude. Ruby laughs. "It's okay. I thought both you and Emma were pretty in college. That's why I didn't care that you were using me to get to her."

"I was not—"

"You were," she says airily. She's not accusing him; if anything she's amused. "I could care less, Killian. I've done the same thing to plenty of boys. Girls, I'm more direct with." Unbeknownst to him, his mouth drops again. She laughs again, patting his cheek. "Don't deflect. Tell me about your crush on Emma."

"I do not have a crush," he grounds out, eye twitching just a little. He had hoped to keep things quiet, especially while he was still trying to figure out where he stood with Emma.

"Well, I know a certain someone likes you." She turns back away from him, touching up her lips even though they look fine to him. "You'd be surprised how much she'll reveal when she's very drunk."

"Emma?"

Ruby nods. "Tequila always loosens her lips. Both sets, if you know what I mean." She winks, giggling when she sees his wide-eyed look. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding."

"What did she say?"

"Well—"

The door to the hotel room bangs open and Emma appears in the doorway clutching her cell phone. "I know what we're going to do!" It's the happiest and most triumphant he has ever seen her. "Where's Mary Margaret? She needs to hear this."

She marches into the bathroom, tearing through the group, expertly navigating around the clutter of five girls. She pulls Mary Margaret out of the bathroom and draws the rest of the group close. If she notices that there's suddenly another body in the midst of the female half of the bridal party, she makes no comment and continues with a wide smile on her face.

She thrust her phone out for the other girls to see, but Killian has stopped paying attention. Despite all the shit that she pulls, Killian is nothing but entranced by her. Emma's not quite as dolled up as the other girls. Her makeup is simple and natural, hair wrapped around multiple large curlers. Like the others, she's wrapped in a silk robe that falls to her thighs, but hers is a bright blue that accentuates her creamy skin. It's little loose at the top and Killian can catch a glimpse of cleavage every now and then if she angles right. Caught between her long legs and the glimpse of cleavage, Killian doesn't know where to look or how he can possibly be paying attention.

He gets caught, of course. Regina smacks him neatly on the shoulder, and he draws his attention immediately toward Emma's face. She's watching him with knowing expression, and raises a delicately made up eyebrow. "Did you hear anything I said, Jones?"

"Of course."

Her disbelief is evident, but she ignores it. "Great, then you can tell the boys and make sure they'll be ready for it." She smiles at him like she knows he has no clue what's going on, but her attention falls on the situation at hand. Now that one more crisis has been averted, there is much more to do.

Killian falls into the background to wait to pester Emma for information as the girls shuffle back into motion. Within minutes, nearly all the girls are jumping from one mirror to another, fixing hair and touching up makeup. He's very grateful in that moment that all he needed to do was shower, trim his beard, and get dressed, all of which was accomplished hours ago in his own apartment.

He's so lost in thought, watching Ruby perfectly shape Elsa's eyebrows that he doesn't even notice when Emma sidles up beside him, brushing her bare arm against his. "So did you really miss everything I said, or was that just a ploy to have me come talk to you?"

"I don't play dirty, Emma," he scoffs. After last night, he had thought that Emma would be more cautious around him, but it's evident that she's got more on her mind. He smiles, willing to give her a chance. She's like a frightened horse in that respect: let her approach him. "I really didn't hear you. I was distracted." His eyes fall without his control to her chest, but the silk robe is tightened now and he can't see anything but the shape of her breasts and possibly a nipple.

"Distracted, huh?"

"Very, love."

Emma licks her lips, trying to focus. "I spoke to the photographer and instead, of a traditional photoshoot, we're going to work the rain into the photos. He's bringing umbrellas, Robin and Roland are collecting rain boots for the wedding party and we're going to make this the most spectacular, fun thing Mary Margaret has ever experienced."

He thought that the pictures would just wind up only being in August Hall, but he's very pleased with Emma's suggestion. He understands better why Mary Margaret chippered up once the news had been spread. Emma might have just saved the bride from complete doom and gloom. "I'm impressed, Swan. You're a bloody, lifesaver."

"I'm not going to let this ruin her day." They watch Mary Margaret and Regina wind a few strand of pastel wildflowers through Mary Margaret's dark head of hair. "She deserves to be happy more than anyone."

"She does," Killian agrees. He pauses, scratching the soft soft behind his ear awkwardly, before just plunging forward. "You deserve happiness too, you know."

Emma freezes, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. She takes a deep breath. "Not this again. I know."

"I'm not doing anything." Killian raises his hands in surrender. "Just letting you know."

"I'm aware."

"It takes time." Killian sighs. "God, knows that I still don't think I deserve it."

Emma's face falls. "Of course you deserve happiness. I might have been stupid before, but you are a wonderful, compassionate man."

"That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Shut up."

"Never," he says. "I live to annoy you, Swan. Haven't you realized that yet?"

"I'm aware. My new kitten is proof."

"You love Sparky, don't you dare deny it."

"Her name is Luna," Emma corrects, but her eyes brighten. "And yes. Henry and I love that little girl already." It's awkward for a second while she pauses to think. "Why are you doing this? I left you in the middle of the night, after great sex, because I'm a big fat coward and you still are supplying me with breakfast and leaving kittens on my doorstep. I don't get it."

"Because I like you, Emma." He scoffs, keeping his voice quiet, even though he's sure no one will notice. "I want more with you than just sex. I don't want another bimbo on the street. I want you."

She colors, patting her robe nervously. "I need to help Mary Margaret get ready for her wedding that's in a few hours." Emma's eyes flicker to and away from him. "Killian, I'm not good at this. I promise we'll talk after."

"However long you need, love."

She steps away from the wall, and glances back at him. "I'm sorry I was so awful to you before."

"Before like college-before or leaving-me-in-the-middle-of-the-night-before?"

She winces. "Both."

"Both," he echos with a chuckle. "It's alright, Emma. I understand. Just don't let it happen again."

She swallows hard, but her green eyes are steely. "Never."

* * *

 

Although the preparation is a mess, the actual wedding is gorgeous. The ceremony is small with only 45 of Mary Margaret and David's closest family and friends pack into the August Hall's sunroom. David nearly bludgeons himself three separate times in his nervousness, but all of that dissolves the second the music starts.

The bridesmaids lead the way in their knee-length dresses, but Killian's heart doesn't so much as flutter until he gets a glimpse of Swan at the far end of the aisle. Her blonde curls are loose around her face, with only one wildflower weaved into a delicate braid around her hairline to reveal her pretty, simply done up face. Her dress is a knockout, light teal and floor-length with a slit halfway up her thigh to reveal her skin every so often. It fits perfectly to her body and in that moment, watching her saunter down the aisle like a model, Killian doesn't understand the belief that all bridesmaid's dresses were awful—Emma Swan looks stunning.

He can barely focus as she approaches them, barely has the ability to mouth to her _'You look beautiful'_ when she takes her place opposite him. The butterflies in his stomach are running rampant, and he has to use the procession of the flower girl and ring bearer to pull himself together before Mary Margaret appears.

Killian nearly tears up and David does start to cry when the love of his life starts her walk down the aisle in her gorgeous wedding gown. David kisses her fiercely when she steps up beside him, and grips her hand like his life depends on it. His future wife is the opposite. Considering how erratic she'd been before, Mary Margaret is the epitome of giddy, smile as wide as she can manage, eyes glittering with happiness.

Killian's never been so proud to stand up for them as a witness.

The rest of the ceremony passes like a blur. There's whooping and hollering when the newlyweds share a very passionate kiss and exit the building under a shower of bubbles while the wedding party heads to the courtyard for the never ending series of wedding photos.

As the Best Man, Killian's in a fair few photos. They make the best of a bad situation with Swan's genius idea. They pose in colorful, very uncomfortable rain boots, circle around the newlyweds with black umbrellas while they have the only colored ones, and even pose like they're characters in _Singin' in the Rain_. Despite the rain (which is thankfully not as much of a washout as this morning), Mary Margaret is laughing and happy as can be. She's a completely different person than the nervous wreck of earlier.

Emma Swan really is a savior.

He poses for a few photos with Emma at his side, and is even instructed to lift her in his arms while David does the same to Mary Margaret. Emma's cradled in his arms bridal style, one arm thrown out to display her bouquet of wildflowers and the other wrapped tightly around his neck. If he squints his eyes and pretend hard enough, it feels like it could be for the two of them instead.

Photos lead to the reception and it's wildly successful. The big room they toured first way back in the fall is still has that old, rustic feel—visible brick walls and wood tables with tablecloths—but the room is now decorated to Mary Margaret's liking. The center pieces are big buckets of wild flowers - snapdragons, roses of all colors - and two bottles of old country wine. Draped across the big fireplace and around the large windows are gauzy swatches of white fabric dotted with fairy lights.

The Frank Sinatra cover band plays low in the far corner, and the dance floor is empty aside from a pair of small children dancing wildly. Killian sits at the head table with the others of the bridal party. He's sandwiched between David (whose seat is basically empty since he's mingling and thanking his guests) and Henry. He and Henry immediately dig into the first course with gusto; they missed all of cocktail hour taking pictures.

The salad is not filling at all, but Killian doesn't have time to comment: the DJ introduces the first dance and Killian is obliged to drop his delicious bread roll to watch his best friends share their first dance as newlyweds. It's classic, of course, Billy Joel's ' _Just the Way You Are'_ —David wouldn't have it any other way—and their dance is magical. The lights dim, and a spotlight brightens just over them, as they spin and twirl to the music.

He remembers when David and Mary Margaret had just become 'friends'. David gushed about her, with hearts in his eyes, his entire freshman year. He had spent hours listening to David chatter on about the color of her hair ( _ebony_ ) and the her deep compassion for children ( _she's going to be a teacher_ ). When they eventually got together after months of dancing around each other, Killian was unsurprised and rather irritated that David was continuously missing from his life. After getting to know Mary Margaret better, Killian understood and also fell in love with her (in a platonic way, of course).

Killian watches as other couples, their respective parents, and other close friends and family join them on the dance floor. He's so preoccupied that at first, he doesn't even feel Henry nudge his shoulder. "Killian? Hey Killian?"

"Yes, mate?"

"Aren't you gonna ask my mom to dance?" Killian glances down the table, Emma is sitting quietly, listening with half an ear it seems to Ruby beside her. The others of the party are with their respective partners.

"I am not, Henry," Killian says soundly. At Henry's aghast look, he continues with a wink. "You are."

"Me?" Henry makes a face, tugging at his bowtie. "But I don't know how to dance."

"And that's not a problem at all." Killian tilts his head toward her. "The problem is your mother sitting alone. You have to dance with her, Henry. You're the only man that she will love forever, unconditionally."

"That is true." Henry thinks it over. "I still think you should do it. She likes you and you know how to dance."

"I can teach you right now," Killian whispers. He poses with arms out in front of him as if cradling an imaginary person. Henry mimics him. "All you have to do is sway back in forth. Don't worry about crazy footwork."

"I can do that." Henry stands, composing himself like he's going to war.

"Wait." Killian tugs on his sleeve, bringing him to stop. "You have to ask her properly. Hold your hand and say, 'Ms. Swan, would you care to dance?' You've got to charm her, Henry. That's how you get the ladies. You're already dressed the part, now you just need to act it. Got it?" The boy nods eagerly, extending his own hand, palm up, leaning forward slightly just like Killian did.

"I can do this. Just watch me."

And Killian does, folding his arms across his chest and watching with a smile as Henry taps her neatly on the shoulder and mimics Killian almost exactly. A thrilled smile blossoms on Emma's face and she gets to her feet immediately, taking Henry's hand. They make a slightly awkward pair, Henry hasn't had a big growth spurt yet, but Emma's smile and Henry's laughter is priceless. Toward the end of the song, she looks up, spots his smile, and immediately gets it. She mouths t _hanks_. Killian nods, takes another sip of his wine, and feels very accomplished.

The song ends soon enough and everyone returns to their seats for the arrival of the champagne flutes and the second course. Killian lays his notecards out in front of him and swallows the mild nerves creeping over him—his and Emma's champagne toast is next. He makes room when the waiter comes around with their tables glasses, and wraps an arm around David when the pair make it back to the head table and collapse into their chairs.

"Having the time of your life?" he asks them, as Mary Margaret dives into the bread basket for something to scarf down.

"It's the best day ever!" she exclaims, mouth half full of food. She and David exchange lovesick smiles. "I just wish we had more time to enjoy ourselves."

"I've been having the same small talk with everyone," David confesses to Killian. He looks upset. David is one of those people that genuinely wants to know how you're doing.

"It's your special day, mate. Everyone wants to make sure you're enjoying it. That's all." Killian clinks his glass against David's. "Just think. In a little while, the two of you can tear up the dance floor and in just a few hours, you'll be headed to Bermuda for your honeymoon."

Mary Margaret sighs, dreamy expression on her face. "Bermuda."

"I definitely can't wait for that." David sneaks his hand around Mary Margaret's waist, pulling her close.

"Yuck." Killian rolls his eyes. "Come on, you have two weeks to be lovesick and gooey. Don't do it next to me."

"We're not sorry."

Killian aims to retort, but the speaker squawks and the DJ takes the microphone, trying his hardest to sound like a proper announcer. "Ladies and gentlemen," he takes an exaggerated breath, "the Best Man."

There's faint applause. He rises to his feet.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to thank you all for being here today, especially those of you who knew I'd be speaking. I promise it won't be long." There's a faint scattering of laughter. "I've known for years that David and Mary Margaret were going to get married, even before David had the idea to propose. These two are perfect for each other in so many ways, and I have been blessed to have them in my life for as long as I have, even if you cockblocked me numerous times and gotten me out of trouble in even more ways. I know that I have a family in you two, in some ways my blood relations never could be. I have spent the last ten years watching the two of you grow and develop as a couple, and I don't think there could possibly be another match for either one of you. Thank you for proving true love is real." David and Mary Margaret blush but meet in a sweet kiss. "Congratulations. Let's raise our glasses to the happy couple."

There's hollering laughter and faint applause. Killian bows to David, but his best friend grabs him tightly in a rough hug. "Thank you for being my best friend."

"Always, mate." Killian lets himself be wrapped in a second hug by Mary Margaret and kisses her on the cheek. "I love you guys."

"And we do too," Mary Margaret says with a watery smile. They take their seats as the DJ introduces Emma. She stands.

"I don't think I can exactly compete with that speech, but I'll give it my best try," Emma laughs and pushes her curls off of her face. She takes a deep breath. "When I met Mary Margaret, I was young, practically homeless, and more alone than I've ever been in my whole life. She and David are my family in ways I doubt they even know. They've shown me love, and they've shown me how wonderful it is to be in love. The two of you have been the epitome of the perfect relationship for me; you support, care and love each other no matter what, and it's made me wonder many times if it's possible for me to ever find someone like that." She stops reading from her notes, looks up and meets Mary Margaret's eyes and pointedly puts down the notecards.

"And that's why I think they'll understand more than anyone what I'm doing." There's a faint murmur in the crowd and even Killian's worried something is going to happen. Emma's been studying her notes even more so than Killian. "I'm a hard person to love. I've had a hard time and I'm rough around the edges, as most of you know." Most of the precinct members and those also friends with Emma chuckle in agreement. She musters up a smile even though she looks scared. "And that's what makes this so much harder. But I have to do it."

"Many years ago, before David and Mary Margaret started dating, I remember sitting in the University cafe with Mary Margaret. I asked her why she could possibly want to date someone that accused her of theft. She smiled at me and told me that everyone makes mistakes, and instead of dwelling on those mistakes she needed to move forward and follow her heart. And following her heart led to ten blissful years of dating, an engagement, and a perfect wedding." She smiles tearfully, catching David's near-permanent ecstatic smile. Mary Margaret's watching her with a proud smile, nodding encouragingly. "So, I think it's finally time for me to follow your advice and do the same. I think it might just be time for me to follow my heart too.

"Killian, I need you to hear this." All eyes turn to him, and he pretends not to see. He chooses instead to focus on Emma's face and finds that her eyes are already on him. "I've made many mistakes, mostly in vein of protecting myself and they've hurt you badly. I'm sorry and I hope that you can give me a second chance. I am horrible at this, even though I have the best mentors in the world, but I wanna try. I want this more than anything with you." She closes her eyes, like she can't believe what she's doing. "I'm in love with you."

The silence after she speaks is deafening. Emma, beyond private and definitely the type not to believe in fairytale endings and true love, just spilled her guts to everyone. He doesn't know how she does not bolt out of the ballroom.

But then again, he does know. It's the same reason, deep in his gut that flutters every time that she looks at him, that persuaded him to get her a cat and continue baking her all kinds of breakfast treats when their friendship was already solidified. He's never really thought of it before, but he thinks he might be in love with her too. There is a reason that he dreams about waking up next to her or that he wants to do everything from abroad trips to mundane household chores with her.

He loves her.

Killian Jones loves Emma Swan.

He realizes after a second that he hasn't spoken yet and Emma's face has turned pink from embarrassment. Before he can think, Killian leaps to his feet - nearly knocking his chair over in the process - and pushes passed David and Mary Margaret to wrap Emma in his arms.

"I love you, Emma. I want to be with you every second of the day," he whispers in her ear, words tumbling out of his mouth. "My love, I need you. I want you. I love you."

Their kiss is electric. His heart lurches into his throat. His breath whooshes out of him. Her lips send a white, scorching heat through his body. His hearing shorts out, and he clings to her, wishing it would never end.

It does, however, when she disentangles herself from him. There's faint whooping and clapping, but it stops as she slides her hand to interlock with his, and takes the microphone back from David who is smiling from ear to ear.

"The two of you have helped me grow and become who I am today. I know that the two of you are meant to be together and I think I finally believe what you've been trying to tell me. Thank you. I love you." Emma still clings to him, but unwraps her hand to grab a champagne flute. Everyone scrambles to get there's. "To the happy couple, Congratulations!"

The second Emma hands the microphone back to the DJ's assistant, Killian grabs her hand and tugs her away from the table. "We'll be right back."

"Take your time." Mary Margaret looks like she could cry she's so happy and David is equally as over the moon. It feels like a dream. Emma leads the way around the tables, ignoring the catcalls and looks from their other friends (clearly everyone knows what's going to happen). They let the door shut behind them, muffling most of the Ratpack's music starting up in the ballroom.

Killian pulls her through the semi-crowded lobby toward the courtyard doors. It's not raining, thankfully, and Killian doesn't waste anytime: he pushes her through the doors and immediately pins her to the stone wall.

Emma laughs. "I get the feeling you're pretty okay with this, hmm?"

"Very." He pushes her hair off of her neck and nuzzles deep into the crevice where her neck meets her shoulder and collarbone. He sucks very lightly so as to not leave too much of a mark and absolutely gets a thrill when she shivers. He stops himself before he gets too excited. "I cannot wait to throw you on my bed and tear you apart."

She moans, and he can't take it. He wraps his arms around her body, letting one drift toward her spectacular ass, and leans in for the kiss. Killian doesn't think he can ever get over how much he feels when they kiss. It's pure magic: he can feel her hunger when she kisses him back, tongue rough and powerful, but sweet enough that he wants more.

It's energizing and thrilling, but Killian knows completely that they need to stop or he's going to be rutting against her in public. For a very brief second, when Emma gasps under her breath, he thinks fuck it, he'll strip right here if he can get her to do that again, but Emma pulls away too, lips swollen and face flushed. She doesn't speak, but rest a hand on his chest until she can get her breath back.

Killian waits, thankful that the little courtyard is mostly empty and pretty chilly; he needs it to cool down before he does something to embarrass them and Mary Margaret and David.

"I'm sorry it took me so long." She rest against the wall, running her fingers through her curls to get them off her face. "I'm sorry I'm so stupid."

"Your deepest issues always come back to haunt you when you want to try again." Killian feels like a hypocrite when he can't go into his office without feeling the sharpest aching pain for his brother. He knows, without a doubt, that starting a new, fulfilling relationship is probably the same thing for her. "I get it."

She draws him back into her space, sliding her hand down his white shirt to rest at his hip. "I won't pull what I did last time, and I might need some encouragement, but I'm not going to ghost you ever again. I can't do that to you."

"And I wouldn't leave you alone anyway," Killian comments. "I'd pester you to death before you could ghost me, let's be honest, love."

"Very true." She nods. "This was the perfect opportunity to show you how I really felt. I thought maybe you could use a grand romantic gesture, too."

"Mary Margaret put you up to it?" Killian asks with a smile. It doesn't take away from it -he just knows that Emma is not one to beat her emotions and put herself out there.

"Actually, no. I had a long talk with David this morning. He was freaking out and I was worried about our talk last night, and he may have opened my eyes."

"He's good at that."

"It's David."

She says it like that's enough to explain everything and Killian knows it's good enough for him. "What did he say?"

"He told me how he knew he was in love with Mary Margaret," Emma says. She grips him a little tighter. "You know, like _in_ love with, not just love her." She licks her lips. "It wasn't a fairytale and it wasn't this epiphany. They were freakin' at a Harry Potter premiere, Mary Margaret was dressed up like a witch, and she just smiled at him. That's how he knew."

"That he was in too deep?" Killian chuckles, mouth twitching. "I know that feeling."

"No, that it wasn't just a passing feeling." She's earnest, smile a little bit crooked and a little bit self-deprecating. "I've been so stupid and afraid. And this time, I'm not even sort of drunk. I know I've been a huge idiot and David just reminded me what I wanted."

He's been in love before, but with Emma it's different: goofy, a bit confusing, painful, and wonderful all at once. In every movie he's ever watched and every story he's ever read, love is supposed to be this wonderful, perfect thing, but he knows now it's bullshit. Love, when it's real, is gritty, flawed and magnificent all wrapped up in one. He wouldn't want it any other way.

"You really love me?" She interrupts his musings with a question. Her eyes are sharp, probing, like she's waiting for him to trip up and explain it's been a con the whole time.

He doesn't blame her. He takes her hands, and slowly pins them up above her head. Killian leans in, kisses her firmly, long and deep. She moans in the back of her throat when he licks into her mouth, and he backs off with a small, satisfied smile. He doesn't stray far from her body, making sure she can clearly hear and understand him. "My darling, I've never wanted to be with someone, to love someone, as much as I do you. I would travel to the end of the earth and back if it means you would return my love."

Emma smirks. "If you keep kissing me like that, I think I can make that happen."

Killian would like nothing more. Eventually, they'll have to go back to the party and explain what's happening to their family and friends. And eventually, they'll have to face real life and their real life emotional issues, but Killian's certain it'll be different this time.

He leans in. "Emma Swan, it would be my pleasure."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for spending your free time on my silly little story. I love each and every one of you. Hopefully, I'll see you soon (:


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